Against a Sea of Troubles
by hakubaikou
Summary: A red-haired, amber-eyed stranger washes up on shore in a small, seaside village.
1. Ch 1 ::: Battousai

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuke, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and VIZ Comics. This is a non-profit work for entertainment purposes only. Permission was not obtained from the above parties.  
  
Introduction: Another shamelessly pointless fic. This one is not a serious attempt at a deep or meaningful story. Not by any means. This one's just for kicks. Written fast and with very little thought. And it'll be short, a few chapters only.   
  
Warnings: Several instances of strong language. Semi-graphic descriptions of wounds.  
  
  


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**  
Against a Sea of Troubles: Chapter 1 – Battousai**  
by Haku Baikou  
27.Nov.2003 

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It was a perfect night, decided Sato Noriya, as he sat upon the dock, drinking sake with his oldest friend. The evening air was brisk with the barest hint of warmth, the promise of summer round the bend. It usually wasn't this cold in late May, but the high winds left over from the afternoon's storm had yet to die completely down. And the air still smelled of rain, the faint scent of wet leaves mingling with the salt tang of the sea.

He tilted his face upwards, enjoying the pleasant burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat. The sky was dark, the stars hidden behind racing black clouds. But they were slowly breaking up into patches, allowing for an occasional glimpse of the moon, yellowed and hazy still, as if tired after the storm. 

It was a perfect night after a long, imperfect day. Noriya had been rudely awakened well before dawn by Takaharu, and the rest of the village councilmen, who were in need of his writing skills. He was one of the few literate men left in the town, the village scribe by default, too old to go off to war and too important to the council to be wasted in physical defense of the village. And so he'd been recruited that morning to write various documents, copy messages, and take inventory lists as the town prepared itself for the possibility of fighting once again. 

But the work was finally done, and for the next few hours, Noriya was determined to forget all the council's plans he'd seen earlier in the day; to forget that the world was still in turmoil months after Toba Fushimi; that the Ishin Shishi were breathing down their necks; that their town had chosen to support the wrong side during the Bakumatsu and were now paying dearly for it. 

For now, the only things that mattered were the warm blanket he'd wrapped himself in and the steady supply of sake at his side. And the most difficult decision he had to make was whether or not it was worth the effort to get up from his comfortable position to go inside and get another bottle. 

"This is it," said his friend Morimoto Hideo, the greengrocer, who was pouring the last of the sake a bit unsteadily into his own cup. "The last one's now empty."

"There're three more bottles inside if you care to go get them."

He smiled as he watched his friend consider it.

"Feh," was Hideo's peevish reply, his voice as hard as the iron grey in his hair. "Too damn cold to get up."

Noriya smiled as his friend scooted closer to the lantern between them. Old Hideo was always in a surly mood even when happy. And as far as Noriya could tell, his friend hadn't been in this good a mood in a very long time. But then again, get enough sake into his belly, and Hideo would begin spouting love poetry to just about anyone. 

Hideo squinted, looking more closely at Noriya. "What the hell are you smiling at?"

"Nothing," said Noriya, grinning broadly now. "I was thinking what a perfect night this is."

"Ahou. It's damned cold out here. And my ass is freezing on this damp wood. Whose bright idea was it to sit out on a wet dock after a storm anyhow? Not mine. That's for certain. It's making my joints ache, damn you."

"It's a perfect night," Noriya insisted, ignoring the scowl Hideo threw his way.

He was just about to provide Hideo with a sickeningly idealistic account of why this night was so perfect, but the words died on his lips as he noticed a dark shape floating in the water. He frowned.

"Do you see that?"

"Eh?" His friend turned to follow his gaze. Hideo squinted. "It looks like… like…. Oh shit!"

They were on their feet, then, sake bottles forgotten. Noriya crouched low and leaned forward, lantern held out as far over the water as he could. He could just make out the faint outlines of a man's head and shoulders. Whoever it was, he was probably unconscious judging by the way he bobbed and drifted with no care to avoid any of the rocks nearby. Or he could be dead. No way to tell. Noriya was about to tell Hideo to run inside and get their rescue equipment, but the other man was already sprinting down the dock back towards the house.

"You there! Can you hear me? Hold on!" Noriya called out. 

No answer. Noriya swore under his breath. 

Shipwrecks were relatively common off the rocky coast of their village. Too often, the alert had been sounded on nights such as this, when native and foreign vessels alike had been crushed against the massive juttings of rock, and survivors had to be fished out quickly or perish as they were dashed against the cliff edges. Too often, those who made it off the wrecks would tragically die upon the rocks, only yards away from the safety of the shore.

Noriya's small house was a ways off from the town harbor where ships usually docked. The small rocky cove on his property was not suitable for anything larger than a fisherman's rowboat. But even so, there were occasions when larger vessels strayed off course and would miss the port in town. It wasn't a rare occurrence after a storm such as the one they'd had earlier in the day. What was unusual, however, was the fact that he'd heard nothing in town about any wreckage. It was far more likely for survivors to wash up near town than all the way out here. 

Hideo returned in short order with Noriya's medicine kit, rope, a long pole with a hook on it used for collecting rowboats, and, as a last resort, a fishing net. 

Noriya tied the rope around himself and tossed the end toward his friend, then lowered himself carefully into the water, trusting Hideo to pull him to safety if he should be swept too near the rocks. He gasped from the cold and forced himself to move limbs suddenly heavy from the chill of the water. The choppy waves broke over his head, making it difficult to see even in the lantern light. Noriya rubbed his eyes, treading water, trying to get his bearings. 

"Over to your left," called Hideo. "You're almost there."

He swam blindly in the direction Hideo had indicated, and finally spotted the dark figure ahead, still floating face down, still unmoving. Noriya approached the floating form and found that the man was hanging on a large bit of torn planking. He flung an arm about the man and disengaged him from the plank. 

No, not a man, he realized in shock as he pulled the unresponsive body close to himself. Too small to be a man. Too hard to be a woman. A boy, then. And judging from the size of him, a rather young one. With a sword strapped tightly to his back. _What in the hell?_

"What did you say?" asked Hideo.

Noriya didn't realize he'd spoken aloud. "Nothing! It's a kid, Hideo. He's got a sword strapped to him. I can't get it off."

"Can you swim with it?" Hideo asked as he began pulling in the rope. 

Noriya was too busy trying to stay afloat to answer. He pulled the boy close, gripping the small body tightly with both arms, keeping the sword away from himself so that it wasn't too much in the way. He pedaled furiously with his legs, too blind from the waves and darkness to do much else. He trusted Hideo to get him to the dock. He concentrated on keeping their heads above the water. 

"Here, hand him over," said Hideo. Noriya felt strong hands at his shoulder suddenly. They grabbed the boy, lifting him out of the water as Noriya clutched at the ladder by the dock, climbing slowly out himself. Hideo already had the boy wrapped in one of their blankets by the time Noriya pulled himself completely onto the dock.

"He's alive." Hideo had the boy on his side and was pressing at his belly, clearing any water the boy may have inhaled. 

The boy was alive, but certainly didn't look like it, thought Noriya, as he eyed the still figure sprawled before him. Dark bangs obscured the boy's face, but Noriya could see that the skin was unnervingly pale. 

He touched the boy's cheek briefly, tapping it lightly and checking for any response. When his efforts proved fruitless, he concentrated on the sword instead, trying to work it free of the boy. His trembling fingers were barely able to undo the knots in the lavender scarf that had been used to tie the weapon in place. The cloth was tangled about the boy's neck and chest, half strangling him, and making it difficult for them to assess his injuries. 

Noriya moved the lantern closer to the boy, trying to see the knots in the cloth. He frowned and paused in his work. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the boy's hair gave off a strange reddish glint. He leaned in closer, his hand tracing a strand of it as he inspected it more closely under the light. It was indeed a deep red color. Noriya was marveling at the unusual shade when the boy stirred, turning his pale face toward the lamplight.

The scribe gasped and jerked his hand back as if he'd been burned. 

"What's wrong? What's…." Hideo's voice trailed into silence.

The two of them stared incredulously at the body they'd fished out of the sea. With his face turned toward the lamp, the boys features were startlingly clear. 

Blood red hair.

And a cross-shaped scar.

There was only one person this could possibly be. 

"Kami-sama," Hideo whispered and backed slowly away from the boy. 

Noriya crouched, frozen, too shocked to move. He stared, transfixed, as the boy's eyes opened slightly, amber slits that glowed faintly in the lamplight. 

"Noriya, get back!" Hideo warned, yanking at his sleeve. He blinked and hastily complied, edging back toward the end of the dock, placing as much distance between himself and the hitokiri as possible. 

The amber eyes closed again. The two men did not dare approach him.

In any other circumstance, it would have been a ridiculous situation. Two grown men, cowering back from a half-drowned, half-dead boy. But Noriya and Hideo were no fools. Too many men from their village had died under the hitokiri's hand. And the legends of the amber-eyed monster…. The hideous accounts of his savagery they'd heard from the few soldiers who'd witnessed him fight during the war…. 

Noriya suppressed a shudder. Still no signs of movement from the boy as he lay on the deck. Noriya slowly inched closer to the boy, reaching a hand out to feel for a pulse.

"Careful," Hideo warned.

"I don't think he's in any shape to harm us," said Noriya as he felt a thready fluttering beat.

"All the same…."

"We should disarm him at least." 

Noriya managed to work the sword free of the scarf. His heart pounded in his chest and his hands shook as he slowly pulled the weapon out from under the boy's back. He tossed the sword to Hideo, feeling a little better now that the hitokiri didn't have a weapon within reach. He sat back, sighing as the tension in his shoulders eased a bit. 

Still no movement from the assassin before them.

"Now what?" he murmured.

"Kill him," hissed Hideo softly. "This is Battousai. No question of it. Kill him while we can. And throw him back into the sea, Noriya. We'd be doing the world a favor."

He stared at the boy. They were sensible words, Hideo's suggestion. "You're right, of course. Or we could kill him and take the body to the council." He shifted uncomfortably. He took a deep breath, gathering courage. "Hand me his sword, then," he said.

Hideo handed him the weapon, and Noriya pulled it out of its sheath. So. This was the weapon that had killed so many of their loved ones. This was the blade that had wiped out their best warriors, their young men, their future. He looked at it more closely and frowned. Something wasn't right.

"Hideo, the blade's backwards."

Hideo took the weapon from him, inspecting it carefully and frowning just as Noriya had.

"Take my knife then," said Hideo as he set the odd sword down and handed Noriya the small knife he always wore at his hip.

"Do it," Hideo spat. "He won't feel a thing, my friend. It's a mercy he doesn't fucking deserve."

Noriya held the blade to the boy's neck. 

And then lowered it.

"I can't do it, Hideo," he said softly.

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"I can't."

"We have to!"

"Then you do it."

Hideo snatched the blade from Noriya's hand and roughly grabbed the boy's hair, tilting his head back to expose his throat. "I will!" he cried, his voice tight. "This boy is a demon, Noriya! This boy killed our lads! This boy may have been the one who killed your son! This boy… This fucking boy…."

His arm raised, Hideo hesitated only a moment, then brought the blade down violently. 

And missed. Intentionally. 

The knife struck the dock inches from the boy's face as Hideo slumped forward, hands slack at his side. Noriya found he'd been holding his breath. He regarded his friend with no small amount of relief as Hideo pulled the blade from the dock and slowly slipped it back into its sheath. 

"Dammit," Hideo whispered and closed his eyes. "I can't do it, either."

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

  
"I said hold him down!" snapped Noriya, as the assassin flailed about. The boy had unexpectedly awakened when they'd tried to disentangle the scarf. Why that was the case was beyond Noriya's comprehension. After all, they'd jostled him gods-knew-how-many times as they carried him back to the house, and he hadn't flickered an eyelash. And they'd manage to strip off the rest of his wet garments without waking him once. But as soon as Hideo had laid hands on the damned scarf, the assassin's amber eyes had snapped open, and the boy had flown into a panic. Noriya would have tried to cut the cloth off of him, but the boy had struggled too violently for them to get a blade near him safely. 

So, Noriya worked at the last knot, quickly as he could, and finally slipped the damned thing off the hitokiri and set it down next to the boy, careful to keep the thing plainly in the boy's line of sight. The assassin quieted down almost immediately, his breathing still shallow, but even at least, and his eyes finally closing as he faded out on them again.

"Gods. What do you figure set him off like that?" asked Hideo a bit shakily. 

Noriya shrugged. Damned if he knew.

They got a good look at the boy, finally free to assess the damage. Battousai's collarbone was obviously broken, a splintered fragment of it pushing through the skin between his neck and shoulder, and his right arm hanging at an awkward angle because of it. (Hideo paled when he saw the jutting bone and had to sit down while Noriya continued the inspection.) A messy gash tore across his chest on the same side, and Noriya had no doubt several of the boy's ribs were probably cracked. 

Not a pretty sight, he thought, as he threaded a needle and began to stitch up the gash. But not the worst Noriya had ever seen either. Far from it actually. Considering how many unfortunates had been battered upon those same rocks over the years, Noriya thought Battousai had washed up relatively unscathed. 

The bastard was lucky and would most likely survive as long as infection didn't set in. Whether or not he'd be able to use his sword arm after he recovered was another matter, but frankly, Noriya didn't give a damn about that. It would serve him right if Battousai were crippled. It would be justice, pure and simple. And such a thing wouldn't matter anyway since Noriya intended to alert the council first thing in the morning of the boy's presence, and they'd most likely drag him off to a cell and execute him soon after.

But Sato Noriya liked to think of himself as a civilized soul. So, for tonight at least, the boy was in luck. Tonight, he'd rest in a warm house and not in a prisoner's cell. Tonight, his wounds would be treated to the best of Noriya's abilities, which was no small thing considering Noriya was the closest thing to a healer the town had. Tonight, the boy would sleep in a soft futon, the spare futon that had once belonged to Noriya's son….

"Are you all right, old friend?" Hideo's quiet voice interrupted his thoughts.

He blinked and nodded. "Let me finish sewing this up, and then you can bind his ribs with these." He handed Hideo a roll of clean bandages. 

"What about the, uh, shoulder?" asked Hideo as he looked distastefully at the protruding bit of bone.

"I'll set it, best I can. He won't stay awake after that. We can cauterize the wound while he's out."

Hideo grimaced. 

Noriya took a bottle of sake down from the shelf and handed it to Hideo along with two cups. "Try to get him to drink some of it. And the rest," he smiled grimly, "Is for you. You look like you need it."

His friend narrowed his eyes, about to respond with a characteristic snappy retort when they heard footsteps outside.

"Gods, as if enough hasn't happened already tonight. Who the hell is visiting you at this hour?" muttered Hideo.

Noriya frowned and wiped his hands clean, then motioned for Hideo to stay put as he went outside. He saw the light of a lantern approaching, bouncing erratically up and down as its carrier ran full tilt toward him. 

"Sato-san! Sato-san, I'm glad you're still up," cried an eager young voice behind the glare of the lantern.

"Etsuo, is that you?" Noriya squinted against the light.

"Hai!"

"What are you doing here?"

"There's been a wreck, Sato-san!" The boy lowered the lantern to reveal a flushed round face belonging to a very out of breath young man. 

"A wreck?" Noriya said carefully.

"Hai. A merchant ship. Wrecked on the rocks about a mile from the harbor. Several bodies have washed up already. We've found six so far."

"So, I'm needed then." He turned to go inside and fetch his medicine bag.

"Iya, Sato-san. No need. They're all dead. So far at least. But Kano-san sent me here to let you know just in case any survivors wash up later."

"Aa. Tell him I appreciate the warning."

Etsuo nodded enthusiastically, still gulping air. "And he also wanted to know if you'd seen anything here."

Noriya stared at Etsuo silently for a moment. 

He would never know why he answered the way he did. But years later, he'd be forever glad for the words he chose that night. And he'd be forever grateful to Hideo for keeping quiet inside the house when the greengrocer surely heard every word exchanged between Noriya and young Etsuo. "No. I haven't. But I'll let you folks know if I find anything."

Etsuo nodded again, oblivious to the scribe's awkward moment of hesitation. "All right, Sato-san. I must be off then. I've still got three more households to alert after yours. If you'll excuse me, Sato-san?"

"Of course," he said relieved. "I won't keep you. You're doing good work, Etsuo-kun."

The young man smiled and gathered the lantern in hand. With a quick bow he was off again, running farther down the shoreline towards the nearest neighbor. Noriya silently watched him go, then went back inside to find Hideo staring at him oddly.

"I finished wrapping his ribs." Hideo said, then hesitated. "Why didn't you say anything to Etsuo?"

"I don't know," Noriya answered honestly. He frowned. "You can tell him if you want. He hasn't gone too far yet."

"No." Hideo looked as if he would say more, but then he shook his head and downed a cup of the sake Noriya had given him. 

Noriya wasn't sure why, but his friend's reaction was a relief to him. He couldn't understand why he'd lied to Etsuo. And he couldn't understand why he was so glad Hideo had agreed to keep quiet about their discovery. 

It certainly wasn't because he felt a need to protect Battousai, he knew that much. He hated the hitokiri. Despised him. And he couldn't, for the life of him, think of any reason why he'd done what he did, why he'd chosen to keep the boy's presence a secret. 

"Well, I'm sufficiently drunk now," Hideo's proclamation interrupted his thoughts. The greengrocer grabbed the roll of bandages and sat down next to the boy's futon. "Let's get all this over with so I can go home."

Noriya nodded wordlessly and carefully closed the door.

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

  
_He dreamed of his mother's hands. Her pale fingers lacing about his shoulders as she pulled him close, the soft fall of her wine-red hair tickling his cheek as she embraced him. The sensation seemed real, the warmth of her body as she held him on her lap, the soft sound of her laughter as he squirmed to find a more comfortable position. _

_"Shinta-chan," she'd gently chided, amusement in her voice. "Can you not sit still for just a moment?"_

_He felt her body twist slightly as she reached for something beyond his view. His attention wandered then, his gaze straying to the bird perched on a branch outside the window, to the chimes in the open doorway, and finally to the ocean view beyond the yard. The sky was blue, the water sparkling. And he thought he could see men in boats, fishermen, far from shore. His mind wandered. He wished he could go fishing. But otou-san needed help with the crops, so the sea would have to wait…._

_His mother found what she was reaching for and brought it into view. His eyes widened. He grabbed at it eagerly, his small hands cupping around the smooth wooden object, exploring every angle._

_"What is it, okaa-chan?"_

_"It's a top, Shinta-chan. Here, let me show you." _

_He watched her hands avidly as she wrapped a piece of string around the top, then set it on the floor and pulled. He was mesmerized by the toy, his gaze following as it spun in lazy circles across the floor._

_"Love at first sight," someone across the room said, laughing. "Now he'll never part with it, okaa-san."_

_One of his brothers, perhaps. He wasn't sure. He couldn't remember them very well, and the thought made him sad._

_He turned towards his mother and hugged her in thanks. He looked up, but he couldn't see the features of her face. He blinked in confusion as his reality blurred, and he felt himself slipping away._

_"Okaa-chan!" he cried. "Wait, okaa-chan! Look at me!"_

_But she didn't seem to hear._

_"Please wait," he thought desperately. "Please, I need to see you. Okaa-san….Okaa-san, I can't remember your face!"_

_But she was fading from him. _

_He felt himself being cruelly pulled away._

_Slowly, into the darkness._

  
  
  
  
To be continued.  
  
  
  


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Japanese Terms:  
  
Aa – yes (informal)  
Ahou - moron.  
Bakumatsu - the period of revolution in which power shifted from the Shogunate to the Meiji government.  
Hitokiri - assassin.  
Ishin Shishi - the side that fought against the Shogunate's forces in the Bakumatsu, the side that Battousai fought for.  
Iya - no.  
Okaa-san - mother. (Okaa-chan - mommy.)   
Otou-san - father.  
Toba Fushimi - (January 1867) - the first battle of the Boshin wars, and the last battle Battousai participates in.  
  
  


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Author's Note:  


I wrote this for several reasons: 1) Because I just waded in the Pacific Ocean for the first time in my life the other day and I felt like writing a fic by the sea, 2) As a response to being badly blocked with my other fic, and 3) Because I missed writing about Kenshin. 

Anyway, I hope this turns out to be an entertaining distraction at least. I realize there may be continuity issues with the lavender shawl. In the OAV, Kenshin leaves it on a cross soon after Toba Fushimi. I've decided to extend the timing a bit here so that he still has it with him a few months after that battle.  


Oh, and in case you couldn't tell from my intro. I'm not taking this story as seriously as my others. This one's just for fun.  


  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Ch 2 ::: A Citizen's Duty

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuke, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and VIZ Comics. This is a non-profit work for entertainment purposes only. Permission was not obtained from the above parties.  
  
Warnings: Some instances of strong language.   
  


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**  
Against a Sea of Troubles: Chapter 2 – A Citizen's Duty**  
by Haku Baikou  
01.Dec.2003 

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_ "Onii-chan."_

_"Yes?"_

_"What's a runt?"_

_His eldest brother's hands paused briefly in their work. "Did someone call you that, Shinta-chan?"_

_He considered telling the truth, then thought better of it. He didn't want anyone to get into trouble._

_"No."_

_"A runt is the smallest, weakest one of the litter. Like Dragon. He was a runt."_

_"Oh." Dragon was a good puppy. He'd been small, but he'd grown up strong and fast. _

_So, perhaps the village boys hadn't been making fun of him then. He was never sure. He couldn't imagine why they'd say anything deliberately hurtful to him when he'd never done anything to them. It made no sense._

_They continued working in silence. They were planting seeds, the three of them. Eldest Brother placing the seeds in the ground, and Second Brother a few yards down the field, breaking up the earth with the garden hoe. And Shinta helped as he could by following his biggest brother, holding the basket of seeds for him as he worked._

_"Onii-chan." He couldn't resist another question._

_"What is it, Shinta-chan?" Ever patient._

_"Am I really a demon?"_

_His brother's hands froze this time._

_"Who said that?" The tone of voice was unusually harsh from his otherwise quiet eldest brother._

_"N-nobody."_

_"Shinta-chan, you are a terrible liar." His brother's violet eyes regarded him seriously. "Why did they say such a thing? Was it because of your hair?"_

_His brother waited. And when it became apparent that Shinta had no intention of divulging any more information, his brother sighed in frustration._

_"Shinta-chan, you are neither a runt nor a demon," said the older boy quietly. "You're small because okaa-san is small. And your hair…. Well, you're the only one of us to have okaa-san's red hair, and what's wrong with that? Okaa-san is beautiful, is she not?"_

_"Hai," he agreed fervently. _

_"Oi, is someone saying bad things about our Shinta-chan? Point them out to me, otouto, and we'll kick their asses into the next town," said Second Brother from behind him. Shinta whooped with delight as Second Brother picked him up with strong arms and swung him onto his shoulders._

_"Careful, you two." This from the eldest. "You'll spill the seeds."_

_"Feh, you worry too much, onii-san," said the middle brother. "Shinta's never spilled anything, right? Let's go. I bet okaa-san has lunch ready for us, neh? I'm starving. Wait any longer, and I'll start grazing on the lawn like one of old Jiro-san's cows…. No, better yet. We could always sneak over and roast one of old Jiro-san's cows…."_

_"Onii-chan!" Shinta said in shock. Then burst into gleeful giggles, joining Second Brother in laughter._

_Second Brother was always like that. Full of laughter and good humor. It was infectious, being around him. And even Eldest Brother couldn't remain stern and serious for long in his presence._

_The eldest of the three brothers smiled. "Gods, you two. Enough with poor Jiro-san's cows. All right, let's head back then. Maybe otou-san will be feeling better by now."_

_Thoughts of their father's sudden illness that morning dampened the cheer for a moment, but as the three of them headed slowly home, the laughter slowly returned with one of Second Brother's infamously raunchy jokes, the funny ones that really ought not to have been told in little Shinta-chan's presence. But Second Brother went on telling the jokes anyway even if Shinta really was too young to be hearing them. And Shinta loved him for it._

_Shinta smiled. Life was good._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His mind floated in the pleasant limbo of half-sleep, the vestiges of a laughter-filled, sunlit morning from long ago lingering on the edges of his awareness. The world was a distant dream, image and sound mingling together in an odd haze. He debated on whether or not he should try to wake up. He was tired. So very tired. And all he wanted to do was to remain as he was, eyes closed, limbs heavy, only partially aware of who or where he was. 

But habit, deeply ingrained, forced him to open his eyes, to at least try to take his in his surroundings so he could properly decide whether or not he could allow himself the luxury of sleeping in. 

He opened his eyes a crack and awoke to a sea of lavender, a soft blur of silk. The familiar scarf was a mere inches from his face, the fingers of his left hand curled possessively around it. He moved his hand experimentally. It felt as if he were moving through water. Or sand. His body felt strangely disconnected. With an effort, he brought the scarf slowly to his face, and inhaled. The scent of white plum was long gone from the fabric. But in his mind, he could smell it still, the sweet fragrance surrounding him, heady intoxication as memories of the woman he loved became the whole, the sum, the entirety of his world. 

He shut his eyes, living solely in the immediate moment. She was alive again in times such as this, when his thoughts were like liquid, and his mind could deceive itself into believing everything was as it should be. He could almost convince himself that she was with him, her presence near, her soft hands running through his hair. He was happy. He wanted the moment to last.

"You're up?" A gruff voice from nearby. "I didn't expected you to be awake so soon."

His illusions fragmented as the stranger's voice intruded upon his dream. 

The world crystallized. The last fog of sleep slipped away. 

He became aware of several things, then. He was in a strange room, and he didn't know how he got there. He was with a strange man, and he wasn't sure if he was friend or foe. He was lying on a futon without his sword, which was odd considering he never slept that way. 

But foremost of all, he discovered that he hurt. Terribly. And he couldn't immediately recall why. His right side throbbed in washes of pain from his jaw down to his hip. His neck was a blur of agony. He was suffocating, barely able to breathe. He discovered, to his dismay, that he couldn't move his sword arm. It was constricted, strapped against his chest in taut layers of cloth that immobilized and bound far too tightly for comfort. His hand was free, but even wiggling his fingers sent jolts up the length of his arm and straight to his chest and gut. Turning his head hurt. Movement in general hurt. Breathing hurt. 

He opened his eyes to find a silhouetted form of a man against the bright light from the window nearby. He resented this stranger. Resented him for forcing him to come back to the world, to return to awareness. He resented the man for chasing his beloved away. 

The figure stooped down beside his futon, looming over him, intrusive, unwelcome.

"Can you understand me?" the man asked.

"Yes," he said. Or tried to say. He wasn't certain if he'd succeeded.

The figure waved a hand in front of his eyes.

"Can you hear me? Do you understand what I'm saying?" the voice asked again.

"Yes, I understand," he responded, more forcefully this time. He felt as if he were shouting, but his voice came out as a pathetic, feeble sound that surprised him. Such a small sound from so much effort on his part. Gods, how he wanted to drift back to sleep, to chase that elusive state that had been so pleasant before.

"What is your name?" asked the stranger.

"Himura…." He couldn't continue. 

He never imagined it would be so difficult to say two simple words. His vision began to darken at the edges. He was overwhelmed, assaulted by senses that seemed strangely warped. There were pungent medicinal smells drifting from the tray next to him. The bright sunlight hurt his eyes. And the overbearing pain. His entire being pulsed with it.

"Oi, stay with me here." The loud snap of fingers near his ear. "I need answers."

He tried to comply. He truly did. But his body wouldn't obey him. His mind began to drift.

"Stay with me. Battousai!" said the stranger suddenly.

The word was like a slap to the face. He flinched, blinked involuntarily. He felt his heart pounding through his bandages. 

"No," he breathed.

"No? You deny it?" The stranger's voice was oddly calm. "Come now. Red hair, cross scar, and a demon's yellow eyes. You are the assassin, aren't you? You are Hitokiri Battousai."

"No… Not anymore," he protested, hoping the stranger heard. He tried to shake his head. "Not anymore."

"Not anymore?" Disbelief in the stranger's voice. "What do you mean by that? Are you or aren't you Battousai?"

The stranger wasn't going to let him slip into oblivion without him giving an answer first.

"I was," he admitted softly. "But I promised her… never again…."

His eyes fluttered open again. He frowned. He hadn't been aware that he'd closed them.

"Where am I?" he finally thought to ask. "Who are you?" He really wasn't doing well if it took him this long to think to ask such basic questions. 

He could sense the stranger's hesitation. "You may call me Sato," said the man. "That is my family name."

"Sato-san," he said. "You rescued me?"

"My friend and I pulled you out of the water," said the man irritably.

"Thank you."

The stranger seemed suddenly very angry. "Don't thank me just yet."

He couldn't understand what Sato-san meant by that, exactly. "Sumanai," he whispered faintly. "I've offended you."

Sato sounded almost flustered. "Do you remember what happened to you? How you got here?" 

"No," he answered truthfully, although he suspected he'd recall if he put enough effort into doing so. But he wasn't feeling up to exerting himself at the moment. He wondered when this stranger would leave him alone. Hadn't he answered enough of his questions?

"There was a shipwreck," insisted Sato-san. "You were on board."

Shipwreck? He frowned, vague memories struggling to surface. "No," he said. "No, I wasn't."

"I don't understand. You mean you weren't on board? Or—Come on now. Not yet! Don't fade out on me just yet," said the voice harshly, a tone strangely at odds with the gentle touch of the stranger's hands. 

He felt the Sato-san's hand against the nape of his neck then, lifting his head. A cup was placed against his lips. He resisted. His neck hurt when his head was tilted this way. The bandages dug into his chin. And the herbal smell from the cup nauseated him. He doubted he could keep any of it down. 

"Stop fighting. Drink this," Sato-san commanded, and the warm, bitter concoction was poured slowly down his throat. 

Sato-san's ki flared briefly. It confused him…. So angry, so overtly hostile though the man's actions and touch were gentle.

"I apologize for inconveniencing you," he managed to whisper.

"You—Just drink this, will you? It will help with your fever. And the pain." Sato-san's voice still held an odd, sullen note. But the anger was gone, at least. 

He felt a cold wet cloth settle on his forehead, chilling him. It was all too much, finally. His eyes closed and he sank back into the warm haze of sleep, refusing to respond anymore to Sato-san's insistent urgings. He retreated into memory, to a place where a beautiful woman with sad, sad eyes welcomed him with open arms. And wrapped him gently in lavender silk and the comforting scent of white plums.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"He looks twelve," Hideo observed as he tilted his head and studied the sleeping assassin.

"Which would've made him, what, nine during the Ikedaya Affair?" asked Noriya deadpan.

"Hideo laughed grimly, a quick barking sound of cynical amusement. Three years ago, neither of them would have been able to joke at such a thing. It was good seeing Noriya regain some of his equilibrium. "So, Noriya, did he say anything when he was awake?"

"Not much. The usual ramblings of a delirious mind. He talked in his sleep. Called out to his mother." (Hideo rolled his eyes at that.) Noriya shrugged. "And he called out for a woman named Tomoe. His wife, perhaps."

"The one they say he killed?" mused Hideo.

Noriya nodded and kept rowing. 

"Damned heartless fiend," Hideo spat.

They were in Noriya's rowboat, the three of them, with Noriya and Hideo at either end. The middle seat had been removed, and Battousai was tucked amid a pile of blankets in the bottom of the boat between the two of them. Noriya had intended to move the boy early yesterday morning, but the boy had been too fevered and pale still. Noriya hadn't been sure the boy could withstand the trip. He still wasn't sure now, but he didn't know what else to do with him. So Hideo had come by for an early supper, and the two of them had bundled the assassin into the boat to take him into town before the council. Let the town leaders decide what to do with the boy.

They were at the mouth of the harbor. Almost there. A short while longer, and the boy would be out of his hands, the responsibility lifted.

"You're awfully quiet," observed Hideo with his usual brilliant tact.

Noriya shrugged. What was he to tell his friend? That he had misgivings about handing the boy over? That he wasn't sure it was the best thing to do, to bring a known murderer to the council for justice? At least, that's how Hideo would surely see it. His friend would chide him for having second thoughts. He could picture Hideo scowling, accusing him of being far too softhearted to be showing mercy to a cold-blooded killer such as Battousai. 

And if this boy weren't Battousai, why, then Noriya would have nothing to feel guilty about, would he? The boy would be released, could then recuperate in peace. Simple as that.

But it wasn't that simple. Was it? He knew this boy was Battousai. Of that, he had no doubts. 

But the boy's behavior in the last two days unsettled him. Complicated things. Made him feel most uncomfortable with his initial hatred of him.

Battousai had awakened a few more times since yesterday morning. And each time, he'd been a paragon of civility. Polite and restrained. Uncomplaining despite dressing changes that doubtlessly hurt like hell. The boy had even tried to help Noriya with the dressing changes despite the fact such movements must have caused him additional agony. 

And he'd answered Noriya's questions as well as he was able. Although Noriya was capable of being deceived, his immediate feeling was that the boy was being honest with his answers. And it was those answers that had unsettled Noriya the most, that capsized his beliefs, that challenged what he thought he knew of the hitokiri and made him truly wonder at the enigmatic mind behind those strange amber eyes. 

Sato Noriya found himself torn. And he knew Hideo would not understand. Hideo hadn't been around when the boy was lucid and cooperating. Hideo hadn't seen the disquieting kindness in those yellow eyes. 

He couldn't reconcile this quiet young man with the stories of the legendary demon who'd most likely killed his son. In the boy's eyes, Noriya could not see the heartless, bloodthirsty demon who slaughtered gods-knew-how-many good men during the Bakumatsu. If Himura was indeed Battousai—and surely he was—his legendary past did not mesh with the strange, quiet boy Noriya had rescued two days back. 

Noriya frowned. It could all be an act, of course. And politeness didn't necessarily come hand in hand with kindness or moral rectitude. How many villains had Noriya known, back in the old days, who could smile and seduce as easily as they could kill? Plenty. But all those wicked men had had a slippery quality about them, a faintly distasteful aura about them that Himura seemed to lack. 

If he hadn't known about the hitokiri's bloody past, he would have assumed the boy he rescued to be an exceptionally well-mannered young man, one with elegantly proper old-fashioned manners that were often lacking in young folks these days. 

He found it all very disconcerting. Was he being a gullible fool? Battousai was said to be a tricky bastard. Was the assassin playing mind games with him?

Noriya shivered. Was his son's ghost turning over in its grave, knowing Noriya even harbored such soft-hearted thoughts toward a mass-killer? Was it a sin? Was it a weakness to give Masaki's killer a chance to justify himself, to tell his side of the story?

Noriya was thoroughly disgusted with himself.

"Noriya, what the hell's wrong with you?" Hideo was staring at him oddly. "Are you all right, man?"

He blinked. And realized Hideo was poking at his arm with his oar. 

"I'm fine. I was thinking."

"Hmph, I've never seen you think so hard," growled Hideo when he seemed assured that his friend was all right. "Don't do that. It's damned eerie."

"Sorry."

Hideo peered at him, a sneaking sidelong glance as Noriya concentrated again on rowing. 

"So. Out with it," sniffed Hideo. "It's about time you told me what you discovered from the boy. Or weren't you planning on sharing with your oldest friend? Something's bothering you, and I want to know what that is."

"Hideo…."

"I'm serious, Noriya. I want to know. What did Battousai say about the ship? Was it full of Ishin spies?"

"No. It was a simple merchant vessel, far as he knows."

"Far as he knows?" One of Hideo's eyebrows quirked upwards sharply in curiosity.

"He wasn't sure. He claimed he wasn't aboard the ship," explained Noriya. "Said he was walking on one of the small roads on the cliffs when he saw the ship wreck off the rocks. Said he jumped into the water to try to find survivors. He found two, and tried to get them to shore, but they were swept away at the last minute, and he lost them…. He had tears in his eyes when he said that, Hideo. Now why would Battousai have tears in his eyes from the deaths of two complete strangers?"

Hideo stared at him a long moment. Incredulously. And finally he couldn't keep it in any longer: "You fucking believed that? What a load of shit, Noriya! Worst sob story I've ever heard! I mean, seriously. A decent liar would have come up with something a little more subtle at least. Kami-sama, I never figured you for a gullible idiot! Of course he's going to tell you that to save his own skin! He'd tell you anything to keep you from taking him to the council!"

"He doesn't know I'm taking him to the council."

"Huh? You didn't tell him?"

"No. And it didn't feel as if he were saying such things out of an overblown sense of self-preservation. No, Hideo. I didn't tell him."

Hideo cocked his head to the side and snorted. "Well, that's the first thing you've done right. He doesn't need to know."

For some reason, Hideo's words made him unreasonably angry. Noriya bit back a retort and guided their small rowboat toward the docks. 

"Sato-san!" a familiar voice cried out to them. Noriya caught sight of Etsuo's smiling young face near the fishmonger's stand.

"Gods," Hideo growled. "How does he always do that? Pop up in the most inconvenient of times?"

On impulse, Noriya flipped a bit of blanket over Battousai's head, hiding the boy completely from view before Etsuo arrived. Hideo looked at him oddly, but thankfully kept his mouth shut.

Etsuo skidded to a halt and fidgeted as Noriya secured the boat to the dock.

"I take it you never found any bodies, Sato-san?" the young man asked.

"No, Etsuo. Did you?"

"No. No more bodies." Etsuo grinned. "But we did find survivors."

Ah. It was good news. So that's why the young man had been so excited. 

Noriya smiled. "Truly? That's wonderful to hear."

"Hai," said Etsuo. "Akira and I spotted them half a mile beyond your place. Two men. Part of the crew of the ship. And they're shogunate supporters. Can you believe that?"

"Fantastic," said Noriya, truly surprised. "Go on."

"Well, they said they were saved by some crazy foreigner who came out of nowhere. But he must've drowned while saving them. He disappeared just before they reached shore." Etsuo's face fell slightly with that revelation. "Damned shame, really. Sad that he died saving them."

"Foreigner?" asked Noriya slowly. He didn't have to turn around to know that Hideo was staring intently at Etsuo, just as interested of a sudden.

"Hai. Some poor gaigin with red hair, they said. He spoke Japanese perfectly though, apparently. They haven't found his body yet."

"I see," said Noriya. He looked at Hideo who seemed uncharacteristically quiet.

He made a decision then.

"So, what brings you into town, Sato-san?" asked Etsuo, oblivious. "It's a pleasant surprise to find you here."

Noriya blinked and thought fast. "Just picking up more sake, Etsuo. Hideo, the rat bastard, drank the last of my supply."

Hideo scowled.

Etsuo laughed. The warm laugh of an innocent, thought Noriya.

"Ah, an important mission. I won't keep you then," said the young man. With a quick, polite nod, Etsuo was off, doing…whatever it was that Etsuo did with his days, running about here and there with his endless errands for the council.

Noriya sat back down in the boat. Dead silence from Hideo for once. 

"Well, old friend," said Noriya. "You know what I'm going to do."

"You're not taking him to the council."

Noriya nodded. Hideo sighed.

"I know, Hideo. You think I'm making a mistake." 

"Damned right you are. Council will want to know why you gave refuge to the enemy," sighed Hideo. He shook his head and looked away. He was unusually quiet. "But hell, Noriya. I'll stand by your decision. I'll keep my mouth shut for now…. Kami-sama, the boy killed—"

"Shut up!" he snarled, surprising even himself with the viciousness of his words. He softened his tone with an effort. "I'm well aware of that. You think that thought hasn't crossed my mind about a hundred times?"

Hideo yanked the blankets away from Battousai's face and looked intently at the boy. "Why are you doing this for him?" he asked Noriya quietly.

"I don't know. Gut feeling, Hideo. Gut feeling. And I want to understand him. I want to know why he did the things he did. If he has any regrets. Any remorse. I don't know…." The reasoning sounded stupid even to his own ears. Hideo was right to think him a fool. "Maybe I just don't want to watch the council tear the boy apart. You know that's what they'll do once they discover who he is. Forget about a fair trial."

"Sato-san." A soft whisper from the pile of blankets.

"Shit!" Hideo hissed, startled. He scooted against the edge of the boat, backing away from the assassin bundled between them.

Battousai's amber eyes were lucid. The boy was looking at Noriya, face resigned, tired and wan. How much had the boy heard?

"Himura-san," Noriya responded, ignoring Hideo as the greengrocer silently mouthed, '_Gods, Noriya, you told him your name?_' at him like he was an idiot. 

"Sato-san, your friend is right. You should take me to your council."

That was it. Battousai's quiet statement was the final piece clicking into place. Noriya was sure, now, of what he would do.

"Forget it, Himura. You don't even know what's going on. You have no idea what our town's been through, boy. You have no idea what they'll do to you."

"But it's your duty as a citizen of this village, is it not? If you don't turn me in, your loyalties will be suspect. You'd be in danger."

But Noriya wasn't listening to the boy anymore. He'd unfastened the rope from the pier and begun rowing away. After a moment's hesitation, Hideo did the same, sullen and quiet, but loyal as always.

He didn't look back at his friend or at the boy. He could feel Battousai's amber gaze on him. He couldn't tell what the boy was thinking. But the eerie feeling was enough to make his hairs stand on end. He refused to allow himself to be swayed, however. He'd made his decision, and nothing Hideo or Battousai said would deter him. 

So. Sato Noriya, upstanding citizen, would now be harboring a war criminal. Insane idea or no…. So be it.

He sighed deeply, hoping he'd made the right choice.

  
  


To be continued.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
Japanese Terms:  
  
Kami-sama = god  
Okaa-san = mother  
Onii-san = older brother (onii-chan = familiar form)  
Otou-san = father  
Otouto = little brother  
Sumanai = Sorry  
  
  


* * *

  
Author's Note:   


Erm, to clarify on the whole "just having fun" bit. Sure, all stories are fun. Definitely, or I wouldn't be writing these fan fics. But I guess I meant that with this one, I'd just write it without much thinking or planning or research. You know, whatever happens to fall on the page. I usually do some research and plan things out a little more carefully, especially with longer fics. But I thought that lately, with my writer's block, maybe I was thinking too hard. And maybe what I needed to do was to just let go and write something spur-of-the-moment like. Either that, or I just needed to write about Kenshin again, since he seems to be my main source of inspiration for both fics and pics alike. Heehee. It's the red hair, I tell ya.

Oh, and if anyone has any questions regarding Noriya's relative inaction or Kenshin's strangely depressed mental state, I'll just refer you to the title of this fic and its oh-so-subtle *cough cough* reference to a certain well-known Shakespearean soliloquy that it's derived from….

Anyway, I'm glad folks seem to be enjoying this one. Thanks for reading. And thanks to the kind reviewers: Neko-Oni Chan, fujifunmum, Conspirator, Melissa, Lucrecia LeVrai, Espi, Calger459, SilverKnight7, Wolfgirl13, TYDYE girl, Rainchaser, and Melissa.

  
  



	3. Ch 3 ::: The Ties That Bind

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuke, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and VIZ Comics. This is a non-profit work for entertainment purposes only. Permission was not obtained from the above parties.  
  
Warnings: Some instances of strong language.   
  


* * *

**  
Against a Sea of Troubles: Chapter 3 – The Ties That Bind**  
by Haku Baikou  
16.Dec.2003 

* * *

_Shinta clutched the small top in one hand and the fabric of okaa-san's kimono in the other. He buried his face in her shoulder, wanting to be as close to her as possible, wanting the reassurance of her presence. He needed the feel of her, solid against him, real and tangible. He needed to hold onto her to make sure she didn't slip away. Everything he knew…his whole world…was slipping away. _

_"Shinta-chan," she murmured softly, soothingly, tightening her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her as if she too needed the close contact. "Try to sleep, little one. We've a ways yet until we reach town."_

_Sleep wasn't possible. He was so very frightened. _

_Everything had happened far too quickly, his world falling apart in the span of one day. He and his brothers had come home from the field that sunny afternoon to find otou-san much worse than he was in the morning. Okaa-san had been distraught and had sent Eldest Brother to fetch the healer. But by the time the two returned, otou-san was dead. _

_Dead. Shinta-chan couldn't grasp that. Still couldn't, even now, after almost two days. His father was dead._

_Cholera, the healer had said. Cholera was sweeping through their town. Otou-san hadn't been the only one to fall ill. And even now, it was spreading, quickly from home to home._

_Second brother had become sick that evening. Had succumbed by the next morning. His strong big brother was also gone. No more jokes. No more poking fun at old Jiro-san's cows. They would never be three brothers again. One would always be missing._

_Shinta-chan shied away from the thought. It made him want to cry, and he didn't want to do that in front of okaa-san. Okaa-san had enough to worry about._

_When Eldest brother had become sick this morning, okaa-san had made a decision. She'd packed Shinta-chan's few belongings and called on their neighbor, old Jiro-san to take them to the next village where okaa-san's brother lived. _

_It was a sign of how worried she was. Shinta-chan knew okaa-san did not get along well with her brother, or any of her family for that matter. Eldest Brother had once explained to him why okaa-san was so isolated from the rest of her family. Okaa-san's relatives were afraid of her, of her strange red hair and violet eyes. Her own parents barely acknowledged her existence. _

_Shinta-chan didn't like them. But there was no one else. Otou-san had been an orphan. There were no family members on his side. Shinta was to stay with his maternal uncle then, until okaa-san came back for him when (he had to believe it would be "when" and not "if") Eldest Brother recovered. _

_Shinta knew okaa-san was uneasy with this plan. Knew it in the way she kept touching him and hugging him whenever she had the chance. Knew it in the way she kept reassuring him that everything would be well. He suspected she was scared even though she didn't show it. _

_Okaa-san was brave, the bravest woman Shinta knew. Okaa-san had cried briefly for otou-san and Second Brother. But then she had dried her tears and focused instead on trying to keep the rest of them safe and well. Okaa-san alone remained calm when Shinta and Eldest Brother fought to keep from falling to pieces. _

_Okaa-san would save them. Okaa-san would make sure Shinta would be all right. Okaa-san would hold the world together._

_If only she were coming with him. If only she'd stay with him at Uncle's village._

_"Kiyo-san," old Jiro had pleaded with okaa-san. "Don't go back. Please, listen to me. It's too risky. You'll become si—"_

_"My eldest is still there, Jiro-san," okaa-san had said in her quiet, determined voice. "I can't leave him. I take care of my own, Jiro-san."_

_The old man had kept quiet then and driven them in silence to the next village. He waited as okaa-san took Shinta-chan to Uncle's door and introduced him to an uncle he'd never met before. She kissed him and told him to be a good boy. She hugged him tightly and promised to return as soon as she could. And then she said something strange. _

_"Shinta-chan," she told him, her voice trembling oddly. "Whatever happens, remember that okaa-san loves you. More than life itself. You're special, Shinta. You were meant for great things, and don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. I will always love you. I will always be with you. So you be a good boy, all right, Shinta-chan? Be a good boy, and okaa-san will…will return as soon as Minoru-kun is better…." She'd broken off at that point, and Shinta was distressed to see tears in her eyes. She hugged him for a very long time before finally letting go._

_He'd promised himself he'd be a big boy and not cry, but he couldn't keep that promise when okaa-san began to walk away. He ran to her then, clinging silently to her kimono. And Uncle had had to come and pry him away. Uncle had held him tightly by the shoulders as Jiro-san and okaa-san drove away in the old farmer's cart. _

_She turned around in her seat, her eyes on him the whole time as the cart took her farther and farther away. She waved at him, smiling, but looking so very sad. Shinta stood quietly, trying to be the brave boy she wanted him to be. _

_He waved back._

_It was the last he ever saw of her.  
  
_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
He sat up, suddenly, despite the pain that flared, a desperate cry dying on his lips, choking on a word remembered from long ago. A name that had been lost a lifetime ago. 

_"Kiyo_," he whispered. He'd forgotten. Her name was Kiyo.

He swallowed against the tight lump in his throat. Brought his breathing back under control. Blinked past the tears that blurred his vision. 

The dreams were becoming more vivid each time. Since he'd left the fighting after Toba Fushimi, fragments of his long lost past were surfacing, memories distressing for the emotions they brought with them. His soul had been dead for so long, but now, everything was coming back. With a vengeance. Leaving him barely able to cope with the sudden flood of emotion and feeling that came each night when he couldn't defend himself against the workings of his own mind. 

He sat as he was, collecting himself, willing himself to calm down, to regain the rigid control he'd learned to exert over his feelings during the Bakumatsu. 

He concentrated on the pain in his shoulder and chest, thankful for the distraction it brought. Physical pain was something he could deal with, something familiar he could bear. And even though his sudden movement had brought its own wave of agony with it, he preferred this sensation and welcomed it. It hurt. But it was far better than remembering. 

He looked around the room. Sato-san had gone to town to pick up bandages and other supplies, leaving him alone in the small house. He was relieved. He preferred to be alone these days. Sato-san's company, though amiable enough, was still a strain. Being around anyone was a strain.

By old habit, he quickly took an assessment of his condition. He was feeling a bit better. His fever was finally down, and all that remained was a slight head cold from when he was exposed to the chill of the water. It wasn't bad except when he coughed on occasion and hurt his ribs in doing so. 

Still, to distract himself from the thoughts of the past, he decided to give himself a task. He decided it was time to get out of bed. Best to do it now while the old scribe was away and couldn't chide him for being foolhardy.

He pulled the blanket about himself, draping it and fastening it into a makeshift robe leaving only his good arm free. With an effort, he managed to pull himself up and stand, clumsy and wobbly, but on his two feet for the first time in three days. 

The room spun. He barely caught himself in time as he began to fall. He grabbed the edge of the window and managed to sit down on the ledge, gritting his teeth as the jarring impact sent another throbbing wave through his right side. The constricting bandages were driving him mad, but he knew better than to touch them. He leaned his head against the side of the window and closed his eyes, waiting for the discomfort to pass. 

The world was quiet for the moment, reduced to nothing but himself and the sea. The cold breeze was a comfort, the rhythmic sounds of the waves soothing. He brushed strands of his hair from his face, idly wishing he had a strip of leather and both hands free to tie it up properly. He smiled ruefully to himself. He decided he'd swallow his pride and ask Sato-san to help with his hair when the old man came back. 

He focused on breathing, taking his breaths as deeply as the bandages would allow. He tried to center himself, to meditate and calm himself as Katsura-san had taught him. 

He finally managed to achieve a modicum of peace. Staring out at the blue-grey waters and the distant horizon, he could forget for a brief while at least, that the rest of the world existed. He was alone and did not have to hide anything from any strangers. He was too weak to do anything but sit there, and that was, in a strange way, quite liberating. He had no obligations to fulfill. No one to please or to deceive. And for a short while, his mind was truly relaxed and gave him a brief respite against his usual baseline guilt. 

He indulged in the moment, pleasantly losing himself to the hypnotic beauty of the sound of the waves.

He became aware, gradually, of the faraway sound of a flute. 

Frowning, he scanned the rocky beach. Nothing. He carefully turned his head and looked across the room through the other inland-facing window. He saw no one. He could sense no hostile ki.

It was coming from far away, then, the sound from the reedy instrument most likely bouncing off the rock cliffs surrounding the cove. He relaxed somewhat, the tension melting away a bit as he realized he was in no immediate danger of being discovered. 

He allowed himself the luxury of listening to the music, a windy thread of melody that reverberated off the cliff walls. The sound was hauntingly beautiful. Full of feeling. Sad. Whoever was playing it was quite skilled. Not as good as Ikumatsu-dono perhaps, but by no means incompetent. He pulled the blanket more closely about himself and rested against the ledge of the window, lulled by the sound. He hadn't realized how tired he was, how much of an effort getting out of bed had been. He felt sleep overtaking him. 

He resisted. Whoever was playing that flute may be far away, but there was still a human presence in the area other than himself. And years of survival instincts told him he must not fall asleep.

Which was all well and good, but his eyes stubbornly ignored his will. And closed of their own accord. 

He drifted. 

He dozed.

And awoke with a start to find a pair of large brown eyes peering intently at him.

He shook off sleep and came alert, tensing as he realized he had company. He was face to face with a child. A little boy, no more than six or seven years old at most, who stared at him with the frank curiosity of an innocent.

"Who're you?" The child asked, tilting his head, studying the young warrior.

Kenshin had no idea how to respond. Just sat there like an idiot and silently cursed himself, dismayed that he'd allowed anyone past his senses. Never mind that he was still very weak, and that the child's gentle ki felt completely harmless. It was still unacceptable for him to allow a person to sneak up on him unawares. Less than half a year since he was a soldier, and already, he was growing soft.

"Are you a friend of ojii-san?"

"Not exactly," he murmured. "I'm…more of a guest."

"Oh," said the child. "Why are you wearing a blanket? What happened to your clothes?"

"They're being mended."

"What happened to your hair?"

"My hair?"

"It's red."

He blinked. He couldn't believe this conversation was taking place. Where had this child come from? Who was he?

Kenshin was good with children, usually. But this little boy had caught him completely by surprise, and he still wasn't sure exactly how he'd explain his presence here. And the questions the boy asked….

"Did you dip it in paint?" the child went on in his high pitched, sing-song voice. "It doesn't look like paint."

"I was born this way."

"You have yellow eyes. My cat has yellow eyes."

"Oh, does it?" he said feebly. 

"Hai," the boy chirped proudly. He wandered around the room. "Where is ojii-san?"

"You mean Sato-san?" asked Kenshin.

The boy nodded.

"He went into town for supplies. He should be back shortly." Kenshin gathered the blanket about himself and carefully stood up. Thankfully, he didn't fall over this time. "What is your name?"

"Isamu." The boy smiled.

Before Kenshin could respond, he felt another presence approaching. A woman, he guessed, by the feel of the ki. She approached quickly, and soon he could hear her footsteps by the doorway. He resolutely fought the instinct to become alarmed. It was too late to escape anywhere, and he wouldn't get far anyway. 

"Isamu-chan!" called the woman. "Isamu-chan, are you inside?"

"Hai, okaa-chan! I'm with ojii-san's guest."

Isamu's mother entered. A slim, small woman with a basket in one hand, and a flute in the other. "Guest? Who—Oh!" She broke off as she noticed him. 

"My apologies," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to startle you. Your son and I were having a chat."

"Did he ask too many questions? I'm sorry if he did. I'm afraid I spoil him so." She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dimness of the room. "You're a friend of Sato-san, I take it? He often has visitors, but I never know when…."

Her voice trailed off as she squinted, taking note of the blanket and the bandages. 

"You're hurt," she said. "Goodness, you must sit down! You can barely stand."

He shrugged for lack of a better response.

She looked more closely at him and gasped suddenly, her eyes widening.

"Isamu," the woman said slowly. "Isamu, come over here. Come stand by okaa-san." 

Isamu looked up questioningly as his mother's tone of voice suddenly became cold. He obeyed, his eyes wide with confused apprehension. 

She suspected. She knew. 

Instinct told him to grab whatever was close by for a weapon. Again, he doggedly ignored it. He would not arm himself against a defenseless woman. 

"Who are you," asked the woman, no doubt staring at his hair or his scar. No doubt she already knew the answer.

"My name is Himura—"

"I didn't ask your name!" she practically hissed as she set down the flute and basket and shoved Isamum protectively behind her. She approached him slowly, eyes flashing with anger, with defiance. "_Who are you?_"

"Okaa-chan?" Isamu asked timidly.

"Quiet, Isamu-chan," she said absently, her eyes fixed on Kenshin the entire time. She frowned. "You're _him_, aren't you?" she said, barely above a whisper. "I don't believe it. I don't believe you're here. What is going on? Gods. You're _him_."

They stood within an arm span of each other now. He couldn't bring himself to speak.

"Say it," she said. "I want to hear you say it. You're Battousai, aren't you. Hitokiri Battousai."

She had tears in her eyes. Her hands were clenched in fists at her sides. Young Isamu peered out from behind her kimono, eyes wide, frightened.

"Say it!" she said, her voice tight.

"Yes," he whispered. He hurt. And it had nothing to do with his recent wounds. "I was Battousai."

It was as if floodgates were suddenly opened. 

"Damn you!" she cried, her voice breaking. She struck at him, wildly, a flurry of anguished fury. "You killed him! You killed him, you bastard!"

He saw her coming at him, but he didn't defend himself against her blows. He couldn't move. He was frozen, watching helplessly as she broke down into hysterics before his eyes and cursed him repeatedly. She struck him in his wounded shoulder, and the jolt that went through him, drove him to his knees. Still, he could not move.

"Okaa-san!" He dimly heard Isamu's distressed wail in the background. All else was chaos. His vision dimmed as the blows continued, and all he could focus on was the pain in the woman's voice as she continued to scream at him. 

He felt as if he were floating, as if he were merely observing this scene. He felt as if it wasn't real. He couldn't absorb what was going on. Everything had happened too quickly.

_You killed him!_

Whom had he killed, he wondered. And who was this woman?

_You killed him!_

Over and over, she said it. Sobbing as if her heart were broken. And he was responsible somehow. He didn't know why or how, but from what she was saying, he had caused her pain. He wanted to say he was sorry for whatever he had done to her. He wanted to understand what was going on, but he still couldn't speak. Could only gasp for air as he tried to hang onto consciousness despite the pain she was causing him. 

He couldn't take much more. He was falling….

"_Fumiko!_" a familiar voice cried out. 

Sato-san's voice. When did he get here?

"Fumiko!" the old scribe's voice cut in sternly. "Stop it! Stop it, love. Calm down!"

"He killed him!" Fumiko wailed softly, her energy gone, completely spent. Her voice was muffled, as if she'd collapsed and was crying into her sleeve. "What's he doing in your house? How did that monster get here? Oh Gods, he killed Masaki!"

"I know, love. I know." Sato-san's voice. Firm, but gentle. 

Shadowy forms were moving about the small room. Their chaotic movements were making him dizzy. And the voices were too loud. He curled in on himself protectively, trying to shut out the sounds. He succeeded to a degree. Everything began to fade slowly, the sounds seeming more distant. 

"Hideo?" Sato-san sounded tired. 

"I'll take them outside," Hideo's voice answered quietly. "Is the boy all right?"

"Hai, just dazed, I think. I'll be out in a minute, Hideo. Keep her quiet until I can talk to her, will you?" Sato-san's voice hovered nearby. 

"Himura-san?" He felt Sato-san's hands turning him onto his back. The movement jarred his shoulder. His breath hitched on the pain. And the shadows and the world faded to nothing.  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  


It was a goddamned mess, Noriya thought unhappily as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of water and wrung it out. He'd gone into town with Hideo to get supplies. Nothing more. It would only take a short while. He'd never dreamed anything could go wrong in such a short time.

Of all the days, why did his daughter-in-law have to choose today to bring Noriya a surprise picnic?

He'd had the shock of his life, coming home to find a grief-crazed Fumiko, furiously beating her fists into a semi-conscious ex-assassin, with a shocked and distressed Isamu-chan wailing his little heart out in the corner of the room. 

He sighed. A fucking mess.

He'd managed to pull his normally shy and reserved daughter-in-law off the hitokiri and hand her over to a wide-eyed Hideo. Gruff, grumpy Hideo, who had no idea what to do with a crying, hysterical woman and was at a complete loss as to how to console her as he awkwardly escorted Fumiko and Isamu outside. Under any other situation, Noriya would have found his friend's discomfiture exceedingly funny.

Noriya sighed again and pressed the cloth to the assassin's face. Battousai was coming to, frowning and wincing slightly as his eyes fluttered open. Himura looked sickly still. The fever was finally gone, at least, but he still had an unsteady look about him. Noriya helped the boy sit up and asked, "What happened?"

The assassin frowned in momentary confusion. And then flinched, his eyes widening as memory returned.

"It's all right," said Noriya gently. "She's outside."

"Is she all right?" asked the boy, surprising Noriya with his concern.

"She's fine. Which is more than I can say for you."

"Who is she?" asked Battousai.

"Fumiko. She's my daughter-in-law."

Battousai rubbed at his eyes with his good hand and absently brushed the hair from his face. He frowned, then trained his eerie amber eyes on Noriya in a carefully flat, emotionless stare. "Who was it?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, purposefully misunderstanding Battousai's question. 

"Sato-san." Battousai's voice was surprisingly gentle. "She said I killed someone. Please…. Who was it?"

Noriya suddenly found the washcloth in his hand fascinating. He stared at it, wringing it, pulling absently at a small thread that was coming loose from one of the edges. He was very uncomfortable of a sudden. He had a strange sensation in his chest: part pain, part anger, part shame, part… he didn't know. He didn't want to talk about this particular subject. 

He was afraid of finding out the truth.

"His name was Masaki. He was a guard for a daimyo during the Bakumatsu. He was her husband…." Noriya found it difficult to continue. His throat hurt of a sudden. "And… he was my son."

He looked at Battousai then, looked to see if there was any reaction in those strange amber eyes. And he didn't know if he was disappointed or relieved to find absolutely nothing on the assassin's face. Himura-san was staring at him, gaze rock-steady, breathing even, expression revealing no emotion whatsoever. 

No reaction. Not even a sign of recognition. Perhaps Noriya and Fumiko had been wrong then. Perhaps the assassin hadn't killed Masaki? The truth had never been discovered. 

But then again, perhaps the assassin had killed Masaki and simply didn't care. 

Noriya sighed shakily and looked down. And was surprised to find that the assassin's hand clutched at the edges of the blanket in a white-knuckled grip that betrayed all the emotion he'd managed to keep from his face. 

"Did you do it? Did you kill my son, Battousai?" he asked quietly, terrified that the assassin would actually answer him. 

"Sato Masaki…. I don't know that name," whispered the assassin, avoiding Noriya's gaze. There seemed to be a glimmer of hope in the assassin's voice, a chance that he hadn't killed him.

"You wouldn't," said Noriya. "He wasn't an important man. He was just a guard." _Just a guard to the rest of the world. So much more to me…._

"What was the name of his lord?"

"Kunii."

A long pause. "Sato-san…."

"You killed Kunii?"

Himura nodded grimly. 

Noriya didn't want to believe. "Still, it could have been someone else on your side. One of your fellow soldiers, perhaps."

"There was no one else there that night, Sato-san. Just me."

Noriya frowned, astounded. "But there were sixteen men in his company that night! There were sixteen…. You single-handedly killed sixteen men?"

Battousai would not look at him.

Which meant there was no question of it anymore. And the truth that Noriya had skirted around for the last few days was finally out in the open: This polite young man killed his son. 

He had suspected all along. Had known it in his mind if not his heart. But knowing now with dead certainty suddenly hurt more than he anticipated, despite preparing himself for days. He didn't know what to feel. Did he want to kill this young man who had come to be an agreeable guest, if not yet an actual friend? Did he want to turn him in to the council after all? 

"You should turn me in," said Battousai after what seemed an interminable silence. It was as if the hitokiri could read his very thoughts.

"I swore I wouldn't do that," snapped Noriya, surprising himself. "I'm a man of my word."

He stood up, unable to look at the red haired assassin sitting in his house. "I wanted to kill you, you know. When Hideo and I first found you, we almost took your head."

"Perhaps that would have been best."

Noriya did turn around then, surprised at Battousai's calm acceptance of his admission. He felt oddly angry of a sudden, that the man who took his son's life should care so little for his own. "Don't you want to live?"

The hitokiri shrugged and closed his eyes. "Hai, I think I do. But what I want… isn't necessarily what I deserve."

Noriya stared at the hitokiri, not knowing what to say.

Noriya found himself shaking. Damn. The room was too warm. 

He abruptly walked out, leaving Battousai sitting in the middle of the floor. Walked past Hideo and a still quietly sobbing Fumiko. Ignored a wide-eyed Isamu who backed away from him nervously. Walked away from everyone and stood on the rocky shore, facing the sea. 

He closed his eyes. Breathed deeply. 

It was all a damned mess. The whole day was a mess. A big fucking mess. Nothing was in order.

"Ojii-san?" A shy tugging at his sleeve.

He looked down at his grandson.

"Ojii-san, are you angry?"

Was he? 

Noriya ruffled the boy's hair. 

"No, Isamu-chan." He smiled at the boy. "I'm not angry. Ojii-san just needs some time to think."

He took a deep breath. He took his grandson by the hand.

There was a lot to straighten out.

Big fucking mess….

"Come, Isamu-chan." He sighed wearily. "Let's go talk to your mother."

  


  


To be continued.

  


  


  
  
  
  


* * *

  
Japanese Terms:  
  
Kami-sama = god  
Ojii-san = grandfather  
Okaa-san = mother  
Otou-san = father  
  
  


* * *

  
Author's Note:  


As always, thanks so much to the kind reviewers: majoranka, SilverKnight7, dragon hitokiri, dreamfire89, Calger459, Tan Kimiko, SachiAmi, cardinal, missaw, Melissa, Henrika, Shimizu Hitomi, Maeve Riannon, ESP, Riddle-Master, Angrybee, xxSilentWolfxx, mvdiva, Rainchaser, and Wind Runner. 

  
  
  
  
  



	4. Ch 4 ::: In the Company of Strangers

This fan fiction is based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuke, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and VIZ Comics. This is a non-profit work for entertainment purposes only. Permission was not obtained from the above parties. 

* * *

  
**Against a Sea of Troubles – Chapter 4: In the Company of Strangers**   
by Haku Baikou   
26.Dec.2003 

* * *

Silence. 

"Want another cup of tea?" asked Hideo awkwardly. It wasn't every day he sat alone in Noriya's house with a legendary assassin directly across from him. 

"Iya," said Battousai quietly, setting down his empty cup. 

"How about a cup of sake then?" 

Battousai shook his head. 

More silence. 

Hideo drummed his fingers lightly on the floor. 

"Well," he said. "I'm going to have me a cup." 

He poured himself a generous amount of the sake and downed it without ceremony. Damn that bastard Noriya for making Hideo play tea host to a hitokiri while he talked with his daughter-in-law outside. This really was unbearable. Morimoto Hideo was not particularly skilled at socializing with anyone let alone a reticent killer who had personally slain half the young men Hideo knew in town. 

The silence weighed heavily upon him. But what was he supposed to do? Strike up a conversation with the boy? "_Good evening, Battousai-san. Nice weather we're having. With the storm gone, we should have good sailing for the next few days. Oh, and I hear you murdered my best friend's son...._" 

He shook his head and took another swallow of the sake. Stared sourly at the cup and resented his sobriety. 

No, Hideo wasn't nervous at all. He was just shaking because it was cold. 

Like hell. 

At least Battousai seemed as uncomfortable as he was. The hitokiri would occasionally glance toward the doorway, but otherwise kept his gaze focused carefully downward, trying not to look at anything. Which was fine by Hideo, since it meant those eerie golden eyes wouldn't be staring at him. Eyes like that could burn straight into a man's soul, thought the greengrocer uncomfortably. 

Hideo cocked his head to the side, listening. He could hear nothing of what Noriya and Fumiko were saying, and that irritated him. Not that he made it a habit to eavesdrop. He just wanted to know if they'd be finished any time soon. Sitting alone with Battousai really was making him edgy. 

"Morimoto-san." 

He almost jumped out of his skin. Damned hitokiri couldn't seem to stop startling the hell out of him. 

"What?" 

"I never thanked you for saving my life," said Battousai. "I'm in your debt." 

Oh. He cleared his throat in embarrassment. Thank the gods Battousai didn't know about Hideo's little idea to slit his throat while he'd been unconscious and vulnerable on the dock. 

"Noriya's the one who risked his life to save you, not me," said Hideo gruffly. "You ought to thank him." 

The amber eyes looked up for a moment, and Hideo suppressed a shudder. It was as if all the energy in the room was focused on one point where Battousai sat. The young man was utterly motionless, and yet there was such a presence about him, it was uncanny. Hideo hadn't felt so unnerved in all the previous times he'd seen Battousai. But then again, all the other times, Battousai had been asleep or weak with fever. 

A small movement from the hitokiri caught his attention. Battousai had his hand palm down against the floor and was leaning on it as if he needed the extra support. 

Hideo frowned, taking a closer look at the young man. He seemed pale, though that was difficult to tell considering Battousai's naturally odd complexion. Still, the assassin looked rather drained. 

"Oi, you… you need to lie down?" asked Hideo hesitantly. 

"I'm fine, thank you," said Battousai. 

Hideo nodded, not entirely convinced. He wasn't willing to pursue the matter any further, however. If Battousai fell on his face, then fine, Hideo would help him back to his futon. But until that happened, Hideo was not moving an inch closer to the hitokiri if it wasn't necessary to do so. 

Damn that Noriya. He was certainly taking his sweet time. How long did it take to make a girl dry her tears and come to her senses anyway? Knowing Noriya, the old coot was probably taking the complicated way to do it. The two of them were probably holding hands and exploring inner feelings. Gods. With the likes of a philosopher like Noriya, it could very well take them all day, Hideo thought sourly. 

Lovely way to spend an afternoon. Hideo was about as comfortable here as he would be sitting across from a wounded cobra. 

He sighed. He eyed the bottle of sake and earnestly wished he could drink himself into a stupor. 

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Noriya watched his daughter-in-law dab lightly at her eyes with the handkerchief and suppress another sniffle. She appeared calmer, finally, although her fists were still clenched tightly, and she still refused to look at him. He'd remained silent while she'd slowly collected herself. He'd patiently waited for her to regain her equilibrium before breaching a topic he knew they both dreaded. 

"Were you planning on telling me at all?" She surprised him by speaking first. 

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I'd thought about it, but I hadn't yet decided." 

"I have a right to know." 

"Yes. You do. But I was afraid you'd react badly." 

"I didn't react badly!" 

"Fumiko, you hurt him," he said quietly. "The boy passed out after you left the room." 

"He's lucky I didn't do worse. If I were a man…If I were a man, he would not be so lucky." Tears slid down her cheeks again. She didn't bother wiping at them. "Do you know how many nights I've dreamt of justice?" 

"Fumiko…" 

"No, not justice…," she admitted. "Revenge." 

She twisted the handkerchief tightly as she continued. "Do you know how I cursed the gods that I was born a woman? That I'd be denied the opportunity to seek vengeance? Do you have any idea how often I've wished I were a warrior? How I've dreamed of leaving everything I hold dear behind in order to hunt down Masaki's killer? To face Battousai, to have him begging at my feet? To show him exactly the kind of mercy he showed my husband." 

"My dear—" 

"And here you have him, a guest in your house. Eating your food. Drinking your tea." Her voice shook. "And sleeping in Masaki's bed, no doubt…. _Why_?" 

Her large eyes regarded him with ill-concealed anguish. 

"How… how could you do such a thing, otou-san?" 

Noriya found it difficult to answer. 

Her words shamed him, struck at his deepest insecurities, at the part of himself that most regretted his rash decision to spare Battousai's life. For days, he'd been torn between his guilt and his conscience, and now that Battousai's part in Masaki's death had been irrevocably confirmed, Noriya's misgivings flared anew, and the pain and confusion he felt seemed almost as strong now as it had three years ago when he'd first learned that his son was gone. 

Did he have the right to withhold the hitokiri's presence from Fumiko as he'd considered? And for that matter, did he have the right to withhold such information from the wisdom of the council? Who was he to take matters into his own hands and be the sole judge of Battousai's guilt or innocence? How could Noriya dare to judge Battousai with no regard to other families' feelings on the matter? 

And gods, what if he was wrong about the boy? What if Battousai planned to slaughter them all once his arm was better? 

He shook his head. Bolstered his resolve. 

No, he had made the right decision. Despite all his uncertainties, he knew this to be true. And his instincts—no matter how uncomfortable they made him—seemed to be the right ones. He had been right in sparing the boy. 

Whether or not he should have kept it a secret…now, that was a different matter. 

He looked at his daughter-in-law's forlorn face. He didn't know how to explain what he felt. There were too many factors to figure out. And despite his certainty that he was doing the right thing, his heart still hurt, and he still felt conflicted. 

He didn't know if he could somehow make Fumiko see. He wasn't even sure if he himself completely understood. 

But if there was one thing Noriya was sure of, it was that to kill the boy now would be an unpardonable sin. And however badly he felt at his decision to let Battousai live, Noriya knew he'd feel a thousand times worse were he to allow the boy to die. 

"Fumiko. Do you trust me?" 

She looked at him, puzzled, then nodded. 

"I have a feeling… I have a very strong feeling," he said, "That I've done the right thing in helping the boy." 

"Would you care to explain?" she asked slowly with restrained heat. 

"I can't, love," he said regretfully. "I just need you to trust me." 

"You can't explain? Not at all?" 

"I'm afraid not," he admitted. "All I can tell you is that Battousai isn't at all what I expected him to be, Fumiko. I'd wanted him to be a monster so I could have the satisfaction of killing him. Revenge, as you said, would have been sweet indeed. But he doesn't fit any of the descriptions I'd heard of him. My instincts… my instincts are screaming to me that despite all he's done, he's a good man—" 

"A good man?" she cried, incredulous. 

"Hai," he said, looking her straight in the eye. "A good man. Fumiko, I haven't felt something this strongly in a long time." 

She frowned. "What are you saying, then? That I should simply forgive and forget? Iya! I can't do that. I'm afraid I'm not as charitable as you." 

"You must do what you feel is right, of course," he said. "But what I am asking is that you give me time. I have hopes, Fumiko, that understanding my son's killer will ease the pain of it somewhat." 

He put his hands gently on her shoulders. "Allow me to find out if my instincts were correct. Keep his presence here a secret for a while. And afterwards, you do whatever you must. I swore I wouldn't turn him in to the council, but you aren't bound by such an oath. Fumiko, I'm not asking you to give up your justice. I'm asking you to delay it for a while. Please. Give me time. I need time." 

"What you're asking for is… difficult," she said. 

"I have no doubt of that." 

She stared at him a long time. And although he and his daughter-in-law had grown close since Masaki's death, Noriya was not at all sure what her response would be. He knew he was asking a great deal. 

"You've always been an idealist, otou-san," she sighed. The icy edge to her voice was gone, leaving its normal softer tones. She was considering it, he realized. Unbelievably, she seemed to be seriously considering his request. "You always see the best in people. I don't know if that's a gift or a curse." 

"Either way… I can't seem to help it." 

She closed her eyes. 

"Three days," she agreed quietly. 

He pulled her in and embraced her. He kissed her on her forehead, proud of his daughter-in-law. "That's more than I could hope for, love." 

She smiled sadly at him. 

"Can you stay a while?" He knew it was futile to ask. "I don't see you nearly enough these days." 

"Iya. I still want to kill him." She stood up slowly and carefully smoothed the folds of her kimono. "I don't think I could calm down a second time." 

He must have looked more crestfallen than he'd intended, for she reached out and lightly touched his sleeve. "Isamu-chan and I can come by tomorrow, if you'd like. I can't promise I'd be prepared enough to face…him. But the three of us, we could have that picnic that was... interrupted today." 

It was a generous offer on her part. To be willing to ignore the presence of her husband's killer and come by for a social call…. "Again. Far more than I could hope for, love." 

He looked fondly upon Fumiko as she called softly to Isamu-chan who had been playing on the beach. The young lad came running, cheerfully showing his mother a shell he'd found in one of the tide pools. The boy had seemingly forgotten all about the distressing situation earlier. 

Noriya smiled at his grandson. Ah, the resilience of youth. 

He stood there for a long time, watching them as they walked up the path toward the village, until they disappeared around a bend in the cliff. 

And then he turned toward his house, where the golden light from the hearth spilled from the windows. He felt no warmth or cheer from the normally comforting sight. His son's killer sat within those walls, a young man whose quiet mannerisms reminded him so much of his Masaki, and whose infamous name reminded him so much of Masaki's death. 

There were questions upon questions he had for Battousai. 

But not yet. Not now. 

Noriya wasn't up to handling such a discussion just yet. He needed to be alone. Needed to think. Couldn't face the hitokiri alone right now without risking a loss of composure. 

Noriya took a deep breath and ducked his head quickly in the doorway of his house to find Hideo eyes wide with nervous surprise, and Battousai looking steadily at him, face unreadable. 

"Fumiko's gone home. She's all right…." He faltered a moment. "Are you all right, Hideo?" he asked his distressed-looking friend. 

Hideo swallowed nervously. "Me? Hai. Fine. It's just…Battousai predicted exactly when you'd step through that door, Noriya. I was a bit surprised. That's all." 

Noriya blinked and briefly wondered what other strange abilities the hitokiri had, before he turned to Hideo with a request he knew his friend would not like. 

"I need to do something, Hideo. Would you mind keeping Himura-san company for a few hours until I return?" 

Hideo's eyes widened even more than they already were. "You wh—?" 

"Please, Hideo." 

Noriya really wasn't up to arguing at the moment. He felt desperate to get away. 

His friend must have sensed it, for Hideo's expression softened. 

"Sure, Noriya. Go," he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. 

Noriya nodded gratefully, and without a backward glance, turned and headed toward the dock. 

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silence. 

"Well, Battousai, it looks as if we've more time to kill." The greengrocer flinched as he spoke and frowned slightly, as if berating himself for his poor choice of words. 

Kenshin nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. He obviously made the greengrocer extremely uncomfortable, but he had no idea what he could do to make the situation easier for the man. It was something he'd struggled with throughout the Bakumatsu, this strange effect he had on people. 

In the past, it had occasionally been useful, this unconscious ability of his to intimidate. His mind automatically thought of the times he had to defend Okaami-san's maids against some of the rougher men at market. Of the times he'd used intimidation while acting as a bodyguard for Katsura-san. Or of the time Iizuka-san had swallowed a plum pit when Kenshin had hinted at his displeasure at hearing the man speak inappropriately of Tomoe— 

He shied away from that path of memories as quickly as he could. 

Still, now that he was no longer fighting, he began to notice people's discomfort with him more frequently, and he found that it had begun to bother him now, when in the past he'd barely noticed it. In the past it was a protective quality. Now, there was no use for it. Now, it only hurt him. 

Kenshin couldn't understand his own feelings lately. Since Toba Fushimi, his mind had been in almost continual turmoil. When he was alone, he felt acutely empty inside, the ache of loneliness almost too much to bear. And yet, when he was with people, the loneliness was still there, and he wanted desperately to get away, to be by himself. No matter whom he was with, one person or one-hundred people, he always felt closed off. As if he weren't really there with them. As if he was separate, apart from the world he lived in. With a few exceptions, it seemed he was never truly comfortable among others unless he was fighting. 

"Need anything for pain?" Morimoto-san's words cut into his bout of brooding. 

"Iya, Morimoto-san." His shoulder hurt quite a bit, in fact, but the pain medications had a tendency to cloud his mind. He didn't like that. 

"You hungry?" 

The mere thought of food sickened him. His injuries made anything beyond lying in bed an unpleasant ordeal. But it wasn't the injuries, really. It was more the encounter with Fumiko-san…. 

"I'll make us something to eat," said Morimoto-san. "It'll be suppertime by the time Noriya gets back. Don't know about you, but I'm starving." 

Morimoto-san was clearly making an effort to be a courteous host. And considering what Kenshin had seen of the greengrocer's irascible personality, it must be quite a valiant effort on his part. It was also probably a relief for the man to have something to occupy him, to take his mind off of Kenshin. 

"Miso soup and fish sound all right to you?" 

He didn't think Morimoto-san was really expecting an answer, so he didn't provide one. Kenshin just watched as the greengrocer went about his business, rooting through Noriya's supplies until he found what he wanted. Eventually, Morimoto-san became caught up in his work, and began whistling to himself as he forgot about Kenshin behind him and concentrated on chopping vegetables. 

Kenshin sighed. Morimoto-san seemed an honest man, despite his crotchety nature. Kenshin had the sinking feeling he would never understand such honest people. He had killed for these people. And by doing so, had given up his right to ever be one of them, to ever exist as one of them in this new era that had been created. 

He had tried to be like them. In the last few months, he'd gone from village to village, helping out where he could. He'd offered to do their chores and other work in an effort to understand their lives. He'd tried mundane activities such as brewing tea or cooking, as Morimoto was doing now. 

But try as he might to imitate them, to go through the motions of their everyday lives, he still couldn't understand them. He woke up as they did. He did chores as they did. He did yard work. Did laundry. Performed everything exactly the way he saw others doing so. But it was just that. A performance, and nothing more. Actions without substance. Still, he couldn't understand. Still, he was different. Apart. Alone. 

All his life, he had been an outsider. And deep in his heart he knew that for the rest of his days, he would remain an outsider. He was born different. From his early memories of children in the village teasing him, to his brief time with the slave traders, to a Spartan life with shishou on a secluded mountain top, and finally as a shadow assassin with the Ishin Shishi. None of that had ever been within the bounds of normal civilization. And now, now that the war was over, and he had no more purpose to his life other than to fulfill his promise to Tomoe, now he didn't know what to do with himself. Didn't know how to live in a world that he had never really been a part of. Even if the Meiji era had never come to be, Himura Kenshin would still have floundered. Would still be at a loss as to how to exist in a world of ordinary people in ordinary circumstances. 

He'd kept from killing again, had not used his sakabattou since receiving it. That much, he could do. But that was all he could do. In his mind, he was still the hitokiri. Still Battousai whether he killed or not. Whether he felt guilt or not. Whether he helped others or not. 

It wasn't his current actions that set him apart, that kept him from joining the rest of humanity. It was his tainted past. And that, he knew, was something that couldn't be fixed, could never be undone. Even if those around him had never heard of Hitokiri Battousai, Kenshin himself knew. He carried the cursed name in his heart, plagued by the memories of his sins. And even if someday he could manage to forgive himself for all of his crimes, he knew he could never forget. Could never be truly free of them. He'd lost his innocence long ago, and here he was, trapped in this age of innocence. There was no place for a creature like himself, a remnant of the old world, a hunter among lambs. 

Despite the warmth of Noriya's house, despite Morimoto-san's cheerful whistling and the aromatic scents from his cooking, Kenshin suddenly felt terribly, and miserably alone. 

And he suddenly missed _her_ presence more than ever. 

"Tomoe," he whispered. 

Tomoe, who didn't care that his hands were stained and his soul defective. Tomoe, who kept him company and took away the aching emptiness in his heart. Tomoe, who'd had every reason Fumiko-san had to hate him…and didn't. 

He'd buried all thoughts of her for weeks. Had been successful at keeping memories of her at bay. But in the last few days, when his mind was sick with fever, such thoughts came creeping back while he was powerless to shut them out. 

And today, when he'd seen Fumiko-san's eyes…such pain-filled eyes…. 

Fumiko-san would never believe him, but Kenshin knew exactly how she felt. Understood her pain all too well. Knew exactly how the feelings of anger and loss could eat away at one's soul. After all, everything that Fumiko hated him for…he had the same reason to hate within himself. Battousai had killed Fumiko's husband. And Battousai had killed Kenshin's wife. He felt the same hatred Fumiko-san felt, only he couldn't do anything to relieve the pain. He had no one to strike out against but himself, and even that was denied to him due to his promise to Tomoe. He'd promised Tomoe that he would live, but he never realized how difficult that promise would prove to be. 

Tomoe, who would have stayed with him forever, a silently reassuring presence by his side, if he hadn't destroyed everything in his carelessness. 

Tomoe, who would have gently reproached him for brooding so…. 

_Anata, will you not smile? For me?_

He blinked, his eyes filled with sudden tears. 

"Sumimasen," he choked, whispered to her silently in apology. As if talking to a memory could give him strength. 

The gods knew, Kenshin didn't deserve to complain. After the pain he had caused Fumiko-san and Sato-san, he had absolutely no right to be feeling sorry for himself. 

But still, he hurt. He struggled. 

He needed Tomoe's strength now. He needed that strength to do what normal people took for granted. He needed that strength to merely live, to exist, to do the everyday things that everyone else in the world did without a second thought. Needed that strength to resist the allure of taking the easy way out by falling on his own sword, or slitting his own throat, or a number of other escapes that held such appeal when he was alone and in a strange melancholy mood such as this. 

Kenshin swallowed and tried unsuccessfully to blink away his tears. Tomoe really wouldn't approve of this train of thinking. He didn't have a right to be crying like a child. Not while he was sitting in the house of a man whose son he'd killed. 

He knew he had no right to cry, and yet the tears would not stop. 

A small clattering noise from Morimoto-san made him look up suddenly. And he found Morimoto-san watching him in open-faced shock. 

They stared at each other for a tense, interminable moment. 

"The miso soup is ready," Morimoto-san said at last in a hushed voice. 

The older man filled two bowls and brought them to the mat where Kenshin sat. Kenshin noticed that the man's hands were shaking slightly. Morimoto-san offered him one of the cups, and he took it and stared at it. 

"You ought to have some," said Morimoto-san. "If you want to heal, you're going to have to eat something." 

He could think of nothing to say. He still couldn't bring himself to drink. Just bowed his head and did nothing. 

"Oi, it's going to fall into—" Morimoto-san sighed and set down his own bowl. He got up to go fetch something and came back in a moment with a leather tie in hand. He offered it to Kenshin. 

Kenshin looked at him questioningly. 

"For your hair. It's going to fall in your soup otherwise." And when the man seemed to realize that Kenshin only had one free arm and couldn't tie anything, he grimaced and scratched his head. "Ah right. Sorry." 

Morimoto-san looked like he was struggling with something as he stared briefly at the tie in his hand. And then he stood up. 

"I'll tie it for you then, if you don't mind," he said, sounding more like he was steeling his courage and preparing to go into battle rather than merely tying someone's hair. 

Kenshin said nothing. Just allowed the old man to approach him, to gather up his hair and tie it quickly and efficiently in a warrior's top-knot. 

Morimoto-san sat back down and took his soup bowl once again. He sat, watching Kenshin. Waiting. 

Kenshin took a sip of the soup. It was a little too hot and too strongly flavored for his unsteady stomach. But still, it was better than the medicinal concoctions Noriya had forced him to take. And it was the best thing for him since he was sure he wouldn't yet be able to handle the fish that Morimoto-san was cooking. 

He took another drink and had to admit that it felt good having the warmth of the soup down in his belly. And it felt good to have his hair properly tied up once again. And it felt good to have company, even a nervous and irritable man such as Morimoto-san. For Morimoto-san was trying his best to be amiable. And Kenshin owed it to the man to at least attempt to do likewise. 

"Arigato, Morimoto-san," he said, hoping that Morimoto-san would understand that he was thanking him for more than just the miso soup or the tying of his hair. The old man seemed taken aback to hear him speak, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. 

But there was no fear in the greengrocer's eyes this time. 

"You're welcome," said the old man simply, and continued to drink his miso soup. 

Kenshin took his own bowl and proceeded to do the same. 

Silence closed about the two men once again. 

But this time, it didn't seem quite as uncomfortable or awkward as it had before. 

  


  


To be continued. 

  
**Japanese Terms:**   
Sumimasen = sorry 

  
**Author's Note:**

I about had a heart attack when I first saw all the reviews for chapter three. And then they kept coming. I was stunned. My sincere thanks to: fujifunmum, Conspirator, mvdiva, missaw, Naiya-chan, Crazy Girl Person, Riverwood, SilverKnight7, Mysti-chan, CharlieTheOtakuNymph, Maria Cline, Henrika, majoranka, angelhitomi, Wolfgirl13, ami-dono, ESP, Shimizu Hitomi, Maeve Riannon, Hatokirei, Yusuke6989, Wistful-Eyes, Wingstar-chan, Calger459, TYDYE girl, Reius Devirix, Bloody, and xxSilent Wolfxx. And of course, to anyone else who read the story. 


	5. Ch 5 ::: Friendship

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuke, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and VIZ Comics. This is a non-profit work for entertainment purposes only. Permission was not obtained from the above parties.  
  


* * *

**  
Against a Sea of Troubles: Chapter 5 – Friendship**  
by Haku Baikou  
09.Jan.2004 

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Noriya finished tying the line and climbed out of his boat onto the pier. He wasn't sure what he was doing here, at dock, in town. He hadn't had any specific plans when he'd left his house. Just a vague notion of going somewhere else where he could be alone and think for a while. But after stewing over dark thoughts that made him more and more depressed, he'd decided that perhaps solitude wasn't what he sought after all. And so he'd ended up here, in town center at the harbor. 

Now that he was here, though, he had no idea what he wanted to do. Go to the inn for a warm cup of sake and some soba noodles? Or visit the small temple for meditation? 

He decided on dinner, pragmatic man that he was. 

It had been months since he'd gone to the inn. Council had him so busy these days, it was rare for him to have some time off like he'd had in the last few days. He wondered when the next call from Takaharu-san would come, when young Etsuo would once again come knocking at his door during some ungodly hour in the night, hurrying him along so that some important document could be drafted. It made Noriya want to yawn just thinking about it.

He hoped this lull in town activity would last. He needed the next few days with Battousai to be as free of other obligations as possible. Fumiko had been generous in granting three days, considering she was holding off her long-awaited revenge merely on her faith in Noriya's word. But even so, three days was not much time. Not much time at all. 

The sound of a scuffle in an alleyway behind him interrupted his musings and made him pause. 

He heard harshly whispered voices in a fierce, explosive exchange. Then the rough, thudding contact of fists on skin. A quick gasp. Angry mutterings. And a moment later, the unmistakable hiss of steel being drawn. 

It wasn't any of his damned business, Noriya thought, resisting scholarly curiosity. It had been decades since he held a sword. And only a very confident warrior or a very foolish one would rush into unknown danger alone and unarmed. Noriya was neither of these.

He was about to continue on his way when he heard the sound of footsteps running and one of the combatants calling out: "Akira! Akira, you idiot!"

Etsuo's voice, Noriya realized in surprise. Young Etsuo's voice, raised in anger. Something Noriya had never heard before. 

He hesitated only a brief moment before he strode quickly back toward the alleyway where he found an uncharacteristically disgruntled Etsuo trying to catch his breath. The young man's back was against the wall and his hands were on his thighs, supporting himself. He was winded, but seemed uninjured as far as Noriya could tell. There was no one else in the alleyway. No sign of any fight.

The only odd thing Noriya could notice was the fact that young Etsuo was carrying a set of swords. 

"You all right, boy?" he asked, deciding not to comment on the weapons.

The young man tensed for a moment, then relaxed when he saw who it was. 

"Sato-san! Hai, I'm fine. Quite all right. Did we cause a disturbance? I hope not."

"I heard you call out. Did someone attack you two? Where's Akira? Should we go after him?" 

Noriya didn't know young Akira very well. But he did know that Akira, unlike Etsuo, was a hot-headed and stubborn young man, full of dreams of glory. Noriya wouldn't have put it past the young fool to go running off after their assailants in the hopes of catching them. 

"Iya, iya, Sato-san," Etsuo said in disgust. "No attack. It was just the two of us here."

Etsuo pushed off against the wall and began pacing back and forth in obvious consternation. 

"Akira pulled his sword on me, Noriya," said the young man, shaking his head, eyes wide. "I can't believe he did that. That bastard! We've been friends since we were little, Sato-san. Kami-sama, he just drew his sword on me! You don't draw a sword against a friend!"

Reassured that the only wounded thing here was Etsuo's pride and nothing else, Noriya relaxed a little and took the young man by the arm. 

"I'm going to the inn. You look like you could use a drink."

Noriya waited patiently as Etsuo hesitated, looking down the alley as if trying to decide whether or not to chase after his friend. Etsuo shook his head, then, and dusted his hands off on his hakama. Straightening his clothes until they looked presentable again, he fell into step beside Noriya, and the two of them headed for the inn.

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Not really," Etsuo muttered, calmer now. It took a lot to get the young man upset. But it didn't take much at all to calm him down again. Etsuo was simply like that: slow to anger, quick to forgive. It was partly why Noriya was so fond of the young idiot. 

Noriya shrugged. "I don't think I've ever seen you two fight before."

Etsuo's mouth quirked in thought. "Akira's been acting like an ass since we rescued the two survivors from that ship," said the young man. "I really think the glory's gone to his head." 

Etsuo looked at Noriya. "We re-saved a couple of wet and tired merchants who'd already been saved by someone else, Sato-san. That's all. Not like we did anything particularly impressive. But a few words of praise from the council, and Shinzawa Miyoko blushing behind her fan as we walk by, and Akira suddenly thinks we're a couple of heroes."

"Saving someone from the rocky shore isn't easy," said Noriya, trying to cheer his glum young friend. "It has its risks."

"Hai, I suppose." Etsuo turned to him, his eyes earnest. "But Akira wasn't even the one who did it, Sato-san. I had to go in myself. Akira ca—"

He cut himself off, suddenly looking ashamed and somewhat embarrassed.

"What?" asked Noriya, genuinely curious now.

Etsuo sighed. "He can't even swim, Noriya. Don't tell anyone, eh? That would kill him." 

Noriya managed not to smile in amusement. "I swear it."

"I don't know how you can live by the sea all your life and still not know how to swim," Etsuo muttered, as they reached the inn and found themselves a table. 

Noriya politely hid his smile behind crossed hands as Etsuo fumbled with his swords, trying to sit without having them bash into the chairs and patrons behind him. He didn't entirely succeed.

"Since when did you start carrying those around?" asked the old scribe once the young man had made his apologies to those around him and finally settled down.

Etsuo glanced up, his face flushing red. "What, the swords? Since yesterday. I'm still not quite used to them."

"I can see that."

"Oi, no need to rub it in now, Sato-san," said Etsuo, scratching his head, his face flushing even deeper. "Takaharu-san suggested we start carrying them."

"Trouble brewing?" asked Noriya.

"Hai," said the young man, and then broke off momentarily while the innkeeper's wife brought a tray of sake. "The brigands on the coastal road are acting up again."

Noriya frowned. "Which ones? The former Ishin Shishi fighters or—"

"Hai, the Ishin Shishi deserters. That's the group."

"I thought they went north," said Noriya. 

"They did. But they're back. At least, Takaharu-san believes so. He hasn't any proof yet, but traders and merchants have been attacked off the road again lately. And council's afraid the attacks are going to get worse."

"They're sure of this?" asked Noriya, frowning. It was the first he'd heard of such news.

"Not yet," admitted Etsuo, "Which is why they haven't announced anything to the public just yet. You'll probably be hearing about it soon enough. I'm sure Takaharu-san's going to have plenty of work for a scribe soon."

"I see," said Noriya, not at all happy with the news.

"Anyway, they called for volunteers to form up a temporary guard."

"And Akira decided you two ought to join up," Noriya concluded.

Etsuo looked distinctly embarrassed. "Council promised that anyone who signed up would be taught how to use a sword. Akira said it was the perfect opportunity."

Noriya looked long and hard at the young man across from him. Akira, he could understand. But how Etsuo agreed to be dragged into this was concerning. The boy didn't have an aggressive bone in his body. "Etsuo, lad. I mean no disrespect, but do you even know how to hold that thing?"

"Well, not yet." Despite his embarrassment, Etsuo's chin lifted. "But I'm a fast learner, Sato-san."

Noriya lifted his eyebrows, but said no more. He wanted to tell the boy to be careful. Or better yet, to put away the ridiculous swords. They didn't suit him. 

But one didn't say that to a young man. Young men had their pride.

"Anyway, what are you doing in town, Noriya? It's strange seeing you here, seeing as you almost never come by anymore unless I drag you to come write something for us." It was obvious the boy was desperately trying to change the subject. 

Noriya decided to humor him for the moment. "Eh, just trying to forget a lousy day."

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Hideo clutched his belly and doubled over, laughing so hard he'd stopped making any sound and was now shaking and wheezing helplessly, unable to inhale. 

Battousai looked at him, still very serious. Perhaps slightly perplexed. 

"And Afterwards… Afterwards, it took us an hour to get his hakama out of that tree," continued Hideo when he recovered his breath. "And Noriya, the poor bastard, heh, wouldn't touch sake again for a year after that. A full year!" 

Hideo broke off into helpless fits of laughter again, nearly falling over on the mat. That story never failed to amuse him no matter how many times he told it. And it never failed to make any of his listeners double over as well. 

He took a shaky breath and sighed. Even when he wasn't tipsy on sake, he loved a good laugh. He looked at Battousai, and his drink-soaked brain was smugly satisfied to see that even the hitokiri wasn't immune to this particular tale. 

Battousai was smiling. Granted, it was only the tiniest hint of one, at the corners of his mouth, barely detectable to one who wasn't looking closely for it. But a genuine smile it was, thought Hideo, rather amazed that he'd been able to do that to the hitokiri only an hour after he'd caught the boy crying. 

Even more amazing, he had to admit, was the change in his own comfort level with the boy. He'd started the afternoon off quaking in fear, and here he was, only a few hours later, feeding him miso soup and telling embarrassing stories about Noriya that Noriya would most definitely not approve of had he been present. (Served the old bastard right for leaving Hideo here to babysit, he thought with a little smirk.) 

Of course, the sake Hideo had ingested probably helped facilitate his current easy-going mood….

"I believe I may have had a little too much to drink," Hideo admitted magnanimously.

"Aa," was the hitokiri's politic response. 

"Can't blame me though," Hideo said thoughtfully, "You made me nervous."

"I have that effect on people," said Battousai. And after a moment's hesitation: "It's not intentional."

Hideo arched an eyebrow. It was one of the longest speeches the boy had made yet. 

"Well, I may have overreacted a bit," Hideo offered. And since he'd made a fool of himself already, he plowed onward: "Hell, if there's anything I've learned over the years…it's that I trust Noriya's judgment more than I trust my own. And Noriya seems to think you're a decent enough man, despite what they say about you."

"Sato-san could be wrong about me."

Hideo blinked and suppressed a stray hiccough. 

"Not damned likely," he replied. "Not when it comes to judging people. If Noriya sees goodness in someone, then it's sure to be there."

Battousai didn't say anything, but his doubt was clear.

Hideo squinted, suddenly wanting very much to explain something to the hitokiri. He wasn't sure why this was so important, or why he was suddenly almost angry, but it had to be said, and he had to make the assassin understand. 

"You may find this difficult to believe, but I wasn't exactly the most respectable of citizens when I was a young man, Battousai. Everyone thought I'd end up a criminal or dead in a ditch somewhere. It's true." He nodded for emphasis. "And I probably would have. But Noriya thought me worth befriending when no one else did. He kept me out of trouble, and I'm forever grateful for that. He's a true friend, Noriya is. And if he says you're an honorable man, then I won't question it, even if my own heart tells me you're not to be trusted."

He looked at the hitokiri across from him and wondered if he was getting his point across successfully. "So do you see what I'm saying, Battousai? On Noriya's word alone, I'm sitting here talking with you. Weaponless. Even though my instincts are screaming for me to arm myself to the teeth, to run like hell out of here because, after all, I'm sitting in the same room as Hitokiri Battousai himself."

His eyes widened as realization struck, as he became fully aware of what he had just confessed, and to whom he had just confessed it. "What the hell did I just say?" he muttered to himself in growing horror.

He looked quickly over at Battousai, but the hitokiri didn't seem offended or angry. 

Hideo sighed in relief, and vowed—not for the first time—never to drink so much sake again.

"You really trust your friend," Battousai said in quiet wonder.

Hideo shrugged. "That's what friends do."

Battousai was staring at him intently. The assassin's face, as always, was difficult to read, but Hideo thought he saw the unhappiness returning, an echo of that same look of regret and longing that had suffused the assassin's face when his eyes had been filled with tears earlier in the evening. The hitokiri's golden eyes were dry now, but it really didn't make a difference. The sorrow was still there. 

For some reason, it made Hideo incredibly sad now, to see the boy like this, when before, he had only felt surprise and shock. 

"Oi, was it something I said?" he ventured.

Battousai shook his head. "I'm a little tired," was his response.

Hideo decided he definitely would be laying off the sake for a while. It made him too damned emotional, and he was sure he was saying things tonight that he'd sorely regret tomorrow. 

"That's understandable. You've had a long day—" 

He broke off, as the hitokiri tensed suddenly. 

Himura frowned, his eerie golden eyes losing focus as if he were concentrating on something far away. It was uncanny, the assassin's sudden strange behavior. 

"Someone's coming," said the assassin.

Huh? "It's probably Noriya—"

"I don't think it's Sato-san." Battousai frowned.

Hideo got up quickly and looked out the window. He could see the faint glow of lanterns in the darkness at the top of the cliff trail. 

"Shit," he hissed. Whoever they were, they were still too far away to hear. How Battousai knew they were coming was something Hideo was not sure he wanted to know. He could feel his hair stand on end. Didn't matter how much sake he'd consumed that evening. He suddenly felt cold. 

"We can't let them see you," he said, suddenly feeling more than adequately sober.

Battousai nodded. 

"I'll stay here at the house," continued Hideo.

He could tell Battousai didn't approve.

"They'll have seen the light from the house," he explained. "If on one's here, and it's someone from the council, they'll end up questioning Noriya. I need to stay."

"And if they're not from the council?" asked the hitokiri.

Hideo shuddered. He didn't really want to think about that. The cliff trail was fairly safe nowadays, but in months past, there had been bandits and brigands who roamed the countryside, killing indiscriminately and without remorse. Hideo had no intention of leaving this world just quite yet. 

"Then there's not much either of us could do, unless you think you're up to fighting right now." And with the hitokiri still unsteady with his sword arm bandaged tightly to his chest, Hideo seriously doubted they'd stand a chance. "Do you think you could walk a few dozen yards by yourself?" he asked. 

"I think so."

"They'll see you if you take a torch. Can you see well enough in the dark without—What am I saying? You're Battousai. Of course you can move in the dark." 

Was it the sake that was making him babble? Or was it nerves?

He rummaged quickly through Noriya's shelves and took one of the scribe's old gi as well as the thickest blanket he could find. "You've seen the tide pools where Isamu was playing earlier? Out that window. You've seen them, yes?"

"Hai," said the assassin as Hideo helped him stand. He helped Battousai put on the gi which was, of course, too large. At least it didn't drag on the ground, he saw with relief. The last thing they needed was for Battousai to trip himself out there.

"Beyond them, in the cliff side, there's a small cave." He handed the assassin the blanket. "The entrance is low. You'll have to crawl to get in, but inside, it's big enough for three or four men. You think you can crawl in one-armed?"

"I've no choice," said Battousai as he went a little unsteadily to the door. 

"Good luck," said Hideo. And a crazy thought struck him before the assassin went out: "Oi, take this!" 

He took the assassin's sakabattou out from a loose floorboard under Noriya's futon where they had hidden it days before. Hideo couldn't believe what he was doing, and he had to force himself to move quickly before he thought better of the idea. He held the sword out to Battousai. "Just in case. Take it. Before I change my mind."

The assassin's eyes widened when he saw the weapon. "I thought… I thought it was lost in the sea."

"Well, obviously, it wasn't."

Battousai slowly reached for the weapon.

"You won't try to escape," said Hideo, before he let the hitokiri take it. 

"You have my word," murmured the hitokiri as he wrapped the sword in the blanket and tucked both under his good arm. The eerie golden eyes regarded the greengrocer a moment before the assassin nodded briefly and slipped out into the darkness.

Hideo took a deep breath, then sat down to wait for the visitors. Whoever it was, they would be here soon. 

He tried to behave as if it were just another ordinary night. He hoped it was a convincing act.

For once, he truly hoped it was that daft idiot Etsuo. 

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Etsuo sneezed. 

"It's dark out," he stated the obvious, as he glanced out the window. 

"I should be getting back home," said Noriya, as he finished the last of his soba noodles. "Hideo's staying at my place, going through my sake supply, no doubt, since his own is long gone. Better get back before it's all gone. Again."

"Oh, maybe he'll see Akira, then." 

"Eh? How so?"

Etsuo sighed. "Oh, he's off to find Battousai. He'll most likely stop by at your place along the way."

Noriya froze. Almost choked on his food. 

He set his chopsticks down and looked at Etsuo. It took all of his self control to ask, as if only in passing interest: "Battousai?"

"Hai. Akira's a fool. I told him as much."

"Etsuo," Noriya said slowly, resisting the compulsion to grab the young man by the neck and shake the truth out of him. "What exactly did you and Akira fight about this afternoon? And what, exactly, has your friend gone and done?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't ask," the young man sighed. "Look, Sato-san, it's a fool's obsession. You know the two survivors Akira and I rescued? You know how they said a redheaded gaigin rescued them? Well, one of them was fevered, but after he started to recover, he mentioned that he thought the man had a scar on his face."

"A cross-shaped scar?"

"He didn't know," said Etsuo with a dismissive wave of his hand. "He wasn't sure, he said. But then Akira started to wonder, and he asked them if they remembered what color the man's eyes were. And they said they weren't sure. But they thought the eyes were strange in some way. They just didn't remember why."

"So Akira thinks it was Battousai."

"He only hopes it was," Etsuo snorted. "The idiot. Sure. It would make perfect sense for the infamous Hitokiri Battousai to be skulking about in our little town. And rescuing shogunate supporters, no less." 

Etsuo grabbed his swords and carefully stood up, successfully avoiding the surrounding chairs this time. 

"Anyway, Akira's got this crackpot theory that their savior was Battousai, and that Battousai didn't die. Everyone knows the hitokiri's an immortal demon, right? Of course. So he's hiding around in town somewhere, Akira thinks. And Akira believes that Battousai is the one raiding the merchants on the coastal road, not the brigands. So he's taken it upon himself to go look for the assassin and bring him into the council. Be the hero again. Damned fool." 

Etsuo sighed in emphatic frustration and crossed his arms, warming up to his rant. 

"Have you ever heard of such a hare-brained theory, Sato-san? And even if it were true, what does that idiot think he'll do with Battousai once he finds him? Does he think Hitokiri Battousai is just going to surrender peacefully and come along with him to be presented to council? Kami-sama, that idiot."

"It does sound pretty far-fetched," said Noriya calmly, while his heart pounded like a hammer against his ribcage.

"It does, doesn't it? I told him he was a fool. He got angry and questioned my loyalties to the town. He dared to question me about my loyalties! Next thing you know, we're throwing punches in the alleyway. And he pulls his damned sword on me." Etsuo made a visible effort to calm himself. "That's when he left. He said he'd take a few friends with him. He ought to pass by your house, Sato-san. Perhaps Morimoto-san will talk some sense into him."

"Hideo? He might," said Noriya, as he too stood up from the table. 

"Thanks for dinner, Sato-san. You'll have to allow me to return the favor someday soon," said Etsuo as they paid for the food and then made their way out to the street.

"You're welcome, my boy." Noriya smiled, hoping the strain didn't show. These necessary courtesies were driving him mad. He waved in what he hoped was a relaxed, friendly manner, as Etsuo took his leave and turned and headed up the street toward home.

Noriya began to walk down toward the docks, glancing behind himself and watching Etsuo's retreating form. And when the boy finally rounded a corner, Noriya let his breath out in relief. And ran like hell toward his boat.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
The trip back was a blur. He rowed like a madman and made it home in what was surely record time. His heart pounded, and his palms sweated, and his brain played horrific scenarios of Akira and his friends catching Hideo and Battousai by surprise, and what would be the result of such a discovery. All the versions he played out in his mind ended up in a bloody death for someone. Akira slain by Battousai. Battousai slain by Akira. Or worse. 

Noriya wished his brain would stop tormenting him.

His house was in sight. The lights were on, but he couldn't see if anything was happening. He beached the boat, not bothering to tie it, and sprinted the last few yards home. 

He heard angry shouting as he approached his door. He slowed to a walk with an effort, and went inside.

Hideo and Akira were glaring at each other, with two of Akira's friends standing behind him, looking sullen. They all started at his arrival, tense and high strung to the last man. 

But Battousai was nowhere in sight, Noriya saw with relief. 

"Am I interrupting anything?" asked Noriya.

"I was just telling the kid what an idiot he is," said Hideo. He shook his head and arched an eyebrow, the perfect picture of wry amusement. "You're going to love this, Noriya. Akira-san here, has been going around to the neighbors, asking everyone if they've seen Hitokiri Battousai."

"Eh?"

"Yes, that was my reaction too. Apparently, Hitokiri Battousai has been hiding out around these parts, drinking sake with the locals and fishing in his spare time—"

"I didn't say that!" Akira glared indignantly. "You're making light of a serious situation, Morimoto-san."

"Am I?" Hideo rolled his eyes.

"Akira," Noriya interrupted the exchanged before it became heated again. "What is going on here? What makes you think Battousai's hiding around here?"

"It's a hunch, Sato-san. Remember the survivors Etsuo and I found? They mentioned their rescuer had red hair, a scar on his face, and strange eyes. That sound familiar to you?"

"I thought their rescuer was a gaigin, Akira."

"Who spoke perfect Japanese, Sato-san. It sounds exactly like Battousai, doesn't it?" asked Akira. "I don't think I'm crazy."

"Iya, just stupid," said Hideo.

"Hideo." Noriya frowned. Enough was enough. "No, Akira, it's not crazy. But it's not very likely either."

He put an arm about the young man and began steering him toward the door. "Look, it's late. If you and Hideo want to argue some more, be my guest. But not here, and not now. I'm tired. I'm going to sleep. And I'll thank you all if you leave my house and take your debate elsewhere." 

That said, he had Akira out the door with a last friendly push on the shoulders. "Of course," said Akira with a slight look of guilt about him as if he'd just realized the hour and how rude he was being by arguing with Hideo in Noriya's house while Noriya himself wasn't even home. "I apologize if I was rude, Morimoto-san. But still, Battousai could be hiding around these parts. I'd be careful if I were you."

With that, Akira took his friends and left. Noriya watched the young men walking up the cliffside from the doorway, turning to Hideo only when the boys were gone from sight. 

He looked questioningly at the greengrocer.

"He's hiding in the cave," answered Hideo.

"Kami-sama, Hideo. He'll freeze." Noriya grabbed a lantern and headed toward the cave.

"I left him a blanket. He'll be fine." Hideo joined him.

"Himura-san," Noriya set the lantern down and crawled through the entrance. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The lantern by the entrance cast a dim light, only enough to make out shadows. "Himura-san?"

Noriya felt a sudden urge to back away when a pair of eerie golden eyes slowly opened. Glowing. Disembodied in the darkness. He suddenly understood the fear men talked about when they spoke of their memories of the hitokiri's frightening eyes.

"Gomen, Sato-san," came the assassin's soft voice. "I think I fell asleep."

Noriya brought the lantern into the cave, and the eyes looked less demonic as the boy's face came into view.

Himura looked exhausted, but otherwise seemed all right. He was seated quietly with his back against the rock wall, blanket wrapped about him. 

And his sword in his lap. 

Noriya glanced up in surprise at Hideo as they helped the young man out. He would never have imagined Hideo to allow the boy to have the weapon.

"I should leave," Himura was saying, eyes glazed, his words slightly slurred from fatigue. "Tonight. I can't stay here. I have to go."

"You'll do no such thing," Noriya said to the lad, supporting him as he stumbled back to the house, careful of his arm. The boy was barely able to make it back to the house, let alone anywhere beyond it. "You've got several days worth of medicines and food to pay for, Battousai. You think I'm just going to let you out of here without reimbursing me?"

The assassin's tired eyes widened, then looked downwards in apology.

"He's kidding, Himura. It's a joke," said Hideo.

"Kami-sama, I'm not that stingy," Noriya sighed. 

As they reached the house, and got Himura settled comfortably on his futon, Noriya finally allowed himself to relax after what seemed an eternity of anxiety. He allowed Hideo to deal with the assassin's dressing changes, content to sit and massage his temples, trying to ease the headache that had sneaked up on him unawares. 

"Kid's worn out," said Hideo as he came eventually to sit across from Noriya, two cups of sake in hand. 

"I see you returned his sword to him," Noriya commented.

"Do you object?"

"Iya."

Hideo scowled. "Today was absolute hell, you know. You owe me," he said as he handed one of the cups to Noriya. 

"You're a good man, Hideo."

"Feh. Shut up and think of a good toast."

Noriya smiled tiredly and raised his glass to the greengrocer. "To everlasting friendship."

Hideo smiled wryly. "Everlasting friendship," he agreed. "But don't get too comfortable, you old coot. You still owe me."

  


To be continued.

  


  
  


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Author's Note:

Sorry for the delay in posting this. Real life was pretty hectic (not in a bad way or anything, just busy) this week. 

This chapter may have been a little weird. I wrote it as a transition between other sequences, so it may not feel as solid as some of the other chapters. I'm not sure. Hard for me to tell. 

Thanks, as always, to the kind reviewers: Rainchaser, Naiya-chan, SilverKnight7, fujifunmum, majoranka, mvdiva, Melissa, Maeve Riannon, Shaolin10, missaw, Conspirator, kenshin_admirer, Riverwood, Wolfgirl13, Wistful-Eyes, ami-dono, Canti, Slight Imperfections, TYDYE girl, xxSilentWolfxx, Hakaita, Henrika, angelhitomi, CharlieTheOtakuNymph, ESP, Crazy Girl Person, koe760, Mysti-chan, Calger459, Angrybee, and jezebel. 

If I've left anyone's name out, my humble apologies. And to answer a question: Haku baikou means "white plum" or "white plum blossom" in Japanese. It's the perfume scent that Tomoe wears. 

  
  
  



	6. Ch 6 ::: The Test

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuke, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and VIZ Comics. This is a non-profit work for entertainment purposes only. Permission was not obtained from the above parties.  
  


* * *

**  
Against a Sea of Troubles: Chapter 6 – The Test**  
by Haku Baikou  
02.Feb.2004 

* * *

__

_The sun shone relentlessly, baking the workers in the field with wave upon wave of unbearably arid heat. Shinta-chan's back felt so hot from the sun, it itched. And his eyes hurt from the glare of golden light so bright it made his eyelids red when he shut his eyes. _

_He wanted to stop what he was doing and sit down. He wanted to go wading in the small stream behind his uncle's house and perhaps try to catch some frogs. But now was not the time for play, his cousin had told him. Now was the time for work. And as his cousin had said, Shinta-chan was no baby. He was a big boy and had to do his share of the work if the family was going to harvest enough to make a profit at market. Still, Shinta-chan couldn't help but feel a little resentful that his cousin was sitting in the shade of a tree resting while Shinta had worked all morning and missed lunch. _

_Shinta immediately felt badly for his moment of bitterness. His cousin couldn't help it, of course. His cousin had explained patiently that he'd hurt his leg years ago, and that working in the fields was not good for his health. So naturally, Shinta-chan would have to do his cousin's share of chores in order to make up for the lost labor. It made sense. But still, though he would not admit it to his cousin or complain, the work was hard. And Shinta-chan was bone-tired._

_He was grateful to his uncle for taking him in, grateful that his cousin was generous enough to share his room. And he was proud that he could help, was proud that he was now doing work that his own brothers had never assigned to him due to his young age and small stature. _

_But the daily chores were admittedly brutal, and he worried that he wouldn't be able to keep up with the others. He grew more and more tired each day he was here, and the muscles in his arms and legs were constantly sore. He'd only been working for three days, and he already could barely stand it. He was afraid of failure eventually, and he wasn't sure what his uncle would do in that event._

_It wasn't just the physical labor that bothered him. Life on his uncle's farm was so very different from home. He missed his brothers' easy bantering. He and his brothers had worked hard in the fields, but they'd managed to always maintain a good-natured cheer despite the work. Otou-san frequently praised Shinta-chan for his efforts. Okaa-san always brought cold spring water out to them on hot days such as this. Eldest Brother used to let Shinta take short breaks and run around to stretch out his muscles whenever he got too sore. And Second Brother came up with jokes and fun stories to while away the time while they worked. _

_But Otou-san and Second Brother were gone, Shinta remembered with a slight shiver. When Shinta returned home, there would no longer be any jokes or stories in the fields ever again. There would no longer be praise for a job well done. He would be glad to see Okaa-san and Eldest Brother, of course. But Home would be forever incomplete. _

_It made Shinta-chan unbearably sad, and his child's mind shied away from the thought, unable to handle the enormity of the loss without support from someone he trusted. But he had no one to trust here on Uncle's farm, despite everyone's generosity in letting him stay. So he filed the hurt away, put it out of his mind like he would a toy into his toy box. He would deal with it later when Okaa-san returned. Okaa-san would make the hurt go away._

_"Oi, Shinta-chan," his cousin called. "You all right? The crops aren't going to plant themselves."_

_Shinta winced, abashed by the realization that he'd stopped moving when his thoughts strayed to his loved ones. He was about to resume his work in earnest when he saw a cart pulling slowly up to Uncle's house in the distance._

_He shaded his eyes with his palm and squinted, trying to see who the visitor was. Hoping that it was Okaa-san or Eldest Brother, come to finally take him home. Three days were, after all, a seemingly very long time for a boy of his age. _

_But as he slowly made out the distant figure's features, Shinta bit his lip and felt silent dread growing in his belly. _

_It was Jiro-san. _

_Alone._

_Shinta looked at Jiro-san's cart. There was nobody else sitting in the side seat and nobody in the back of the cart. No sign of either Okaa-san or Eldest Brother. _

_Which, of course, could mean many things, he thought. It wasn't necessarily bad, he tried to reassure himself. But all the same, he suddenly felt very frightened, and his hands began to shake._

_"Shinta-chan, I thought I told you—Eh, who's that?" his cousin Masao asked as he realized someone had arrived at the house. Masao got up from his spot in the shade and began to walk toward the house. Shinta followed hesitantly behind. He watched wordlessly as Uncle came out onto the engawa to greet Jiro-san. Saw Jiro-san shift uncomfortably and lower his head as he spoke. _

_And the feeling of dread grew._

_As they neared the engawa, Cousin Masao finally realized that Shinta had followed behind. "Shinta, go back to—"_

_"Iya, let him stay," his Uncle growled in a low voice, noticing the two approaching boys. "Go do your own work for a change, Masao."_

_His cousin's mouth fell open, and Shinta knew the older boy was about to protest._

_"Now!" Uncle barked in a harsh tone that brooked no argument._

_His cousin blinked. Then turned on his heel and sullenly headed back to the fields, throwing Shinta-chan a dirty little glance before leaving._

_Uncle stared at Shinta-chan a moment, a deep frown furrowing his brow. His eyes were as hard as ever, but his demeanor wasn't quite as stern as it usually was. "Go with Jiro-san, boy. He has something to tell you," he commanded as he turned and went back inside the house, leaving Shinta-chan alone with the old man._

_Shinta looked up at his old neighbor. Jiro-san's normally sour expression was replaced by one of odd tenderness. Which scared Shinta-chan more than anything. He had never seen Jiro-san look so kind. The effect was unnerving. _

_"Jiro-san," Shinta greeted the old man politely. "Did Okaa-san send you to fetch me?"_

_He knew it was rude to ask an elder such a direct question, but the waiting was really getting to be too much for him to bear, and he wanted to go home._

_"Shinta-chan…" Jiro-san swallowed, and with a creak of old bones, knelt down in front of the boy. Jiro-san ran his arthritic fingers gently through Shinta's hair and cupped the young boy's cheek lightly in hand. He smiled sadly. "You've always been a good child."_

_Then the old man frowned, his eyes filled with grim resolve as he leaned forward and quietly told Shinta-chan the news that would change the young boy's life forever.  
  
_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
It was raining. 

The room was suffused with a cold dampness that was fitting considering the dream he'd just had. As with the others, lately, it was terribly vivid, seemingly real, and he was getting to the point where he couldn't tell if they were dreams or waking visions dragged to the surface of half-sleep in the initial moments of awakening.

Either way, he was greatly relieved when he awoke. He was glad to know that it would be an entire day before he had to sleep again. These days, he dreaded sleep above all else, no matter how tired or worn out he was from the day's events. The dreams were nearly intolerable, worse than the typical battle nightmares he was more accustomed to. The wartime nightmares he could fight. These childhood memories, he could not.

He turned slowly onto his side, careful of his ribs and bandaged arm. The shoji was partially open, the rain-hazed beach visible beyond the engawa. He felt sleepy still, but he dared not shut his eyes for fear of the dream returning, resuming where he'd left off. It was not a moment he cared to relive. So he kept his eyes resolutely open, watching the approaching figure of his host as the old man neared the house. 

It was returning, his ability to awaken when sensing another presence nearby. It was a good sign that he was healing, he thought.

"Himura," Sato-san greeted him as he stepped inside and shook the rain off of his cloak. "Sorry, I left the door open. Didn't realize it was going to rain. You didn't get wet, I hope?"

He shook his head.

Sato-san smiled warmly, unaffected by the dreary weather outside. "Council finished early today. I had a few things to write, but all fairly minor documents, thank the gods."

The old scribe hung his cloak across two hooks in the wall, spreading it out so it would dry more quickly. 

"I don't believe young Akira has mentioned anything of his suspicions about you. Nobody mentioned Battousai at the meeting this morning, so that's a good thing, yes? So you needn't leave just yet."

It was odd, seeing Sato-san so cheerful. He would have thought, with the past day's events, that Sato-san would avoid him or treat him far more coldly than he was doing at present. Yesterday, the old man had been so upset by Kenshin's confession that he'd had to leave the house. And now, now he behaved as if nothing was wrong. Practically as if they were friends. 

The friendliness was almost enough to arouse suspicion, to make him think that the old man was being kind in order to lure him into some kind of trap. It was a disturbing thought.

But more disturbing, was the gut feeling that Sato-san's friendliness wasn't hiding any kind of plot at all, that it was most likely guileless. Genuine. 

Kenshin found it more than a little unsettling. 

"It's a rather late for lunch, but I haven't eaten yet, and I know you could use some food," the old man was saying. "I didn't want to wake you too early. Figured you needed the sleep, considering yesterday. How do you feel?"

He pushed himself slowly up to a sitting position and was grateful that Sato-san resisted the compulsion to help. He felt more alert with the brisk air against his skin and was glad of the cold despite the beginnings of a shivering fit. 

"Better," he answered truthfully. "Sato-san…. About yesterday—"

"Iya." Sato-san held up a hand, stopping him. "You could have easily lied to me, but you didn't. I appreciated your honesty."

"But—"

"I didn't sleep a wink last night, you know," said Sato-san in a tone of voice one would usually reserve for pleasant inanities like conversing about the weather. "You gave me one of the worst nights I've ever had. I couldn't sleep for five minutes without having one damned disturbing dream or another. Thoughts of my son…. "

Sato-san broke off, and pretended to concentrate on finding a fresh packet of tea. It was as if he was deliberately trying to hide his pain in order to spare Kenshin's feelings. Which was completely ridiculous. 

Kenshin frowned, unable to understand why the old man seemed so intent on appearing merry when he'd had such a miserable night. Sato-san should be yelling at him at the least. He should be furious. Should be trying to kill Kenshin. That would have made sense. 

"But it was worth it, Himura-san," continued Sato-san more seriously, his voice almost wistful. "This morning, I feel…. I feel better than I have in a long time. As if the clouds have lifted, and I'm left with…clarity."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I." The scholar smiled ruefully. "Well, no, that's not entirely true."

Sato-san threw a piece of wood into the dying hearth and filled a pot with water for boiling. He seemed to be searching for a way to explain. Kenshin, unnerved by this incomprehensible behavior, was content to remain silent to allow the older man time to think.

"I think knowing, at last, what happened to Masaki…was a good thing. I'd wondered for years. But now the truth has finally been revealed. And, in a way, I'm thankful for that. Do you understand?" The man looked at him expectantly as he grabbed a lid with a piece of cloth and put it on the pot.

Kenshin shook his head. "You should be angry."

"Angry?" the old man's eyebrows lifted. "Oh, but I was, when I first heard of his death. You have no idea how angry I was. Wanted to kill everyone in the world. But it's gone now. I'm not sure how, but it faded away and left only emptiness. And a yearning to know what happened."

Sato-san absently ran his hand through his iron-grey hair.

"It's closure, what you gave me…. I think I needed that. And I suppose it helps to know the face of my son's killer," said the old man slowly without apparent rancor. He approached and sat down across from Kenshin. "It helps to know that it's a gentle face, a kind face—"

_What?_

"Sato-san, what are you talking about?" He backed away unconsciously from the man. Confused as hell as to what the scholar was talking about. A gentle face? A kind face? Him? 

"I was awake all night, Himura," Sato-san said softly. The old man hesitated, as if unable to decide whether he should admit something or not. And when he came to a decision: "I heard you. All night."

Kenshin stared, eyes wide.

"I'd known you had nightmares, Himura. God knows, you've woken me often enough in the last few nights because of them. You didn't know that, did you? That you make quite a bit of noise for such a quiet person." A faint wry grin as Sato-san saw his eyes widen even more. The grin faded as the man continued. "But I didn't realize your dreams lasted the whole night through. I didn't know how bad they really were. Do you even remember half of them?"

"Some," Kenshin admitted. He didn't mention that they were getting worse.

"Aah," said the older man sympathetically. 

"Did I call out many times?"

"More than a few," the old man admitted.

He swallowed uncomfortably. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Himura," the old man began, strangely sad all of a sudden. He hesitated as if he could think of nothing to say. "You're too hard on yourself, lad." It was obvious from his tone of voice, that Noriya-san wasn't just talking about his apology for the dreams. 

Kenshin frowned, uncomfortable with the man's kindness and the direction the conversation had taken. When had the topic turned to himself? He didn't like being the subject of talk or attention. It was something he was unaccustomed to. Even with shishou or Tomoe, conversations had rarely been about him. But in the last few days, it seemed as if all Sato-san and Hideo-san spoke of was Kenshin. He felt uncomfortably bared, both physically and figuratively. 

So much attention. Hideo's declining discomfort in his presence was worrisome enough. Sato-san's friendly affection toward him was downright alarming. 

Kenshin wanted nothing more than to hide away, to sink back into a shadowy corner unobserved as he had been through most of the Bakumatsu. Most of his interactions with people had been fleeting, often violent. Prolonged contact was something he avoided, for prolonged contact led to relationships. And if there was one thing he'd learned since his childhood, it was that he didn't want any more relationships. Of any kind. 

They always led to pain. And his heart couldn't take any more.

The dreams of loved ones were worsening day by day. He'd had enough sad memories to last a lifetime. And he didn't want to add any new ones. Didn't want the people he met to become hurt because of him, because of his reputation. He had many enemies, some that he knew by name, others that he didn't even know existed. But they were all there, lurking in shadows and around corners wherever he went. And Kenshin knew that they would not hesitate to tear through an innocent soul or two to get to him. 

He may not have had the physical strength to leave Sato-san's house as of yet. He was still too sick. But he could at least reject the scholar's attempts at friendliness. 

So he hardened his heart and willed his voice to coldness, determined to keep the old scribe at bay. He knew how his eyes would gleam when he did so, how they'd reflect that coldness and send shivers down the old man's spine. Battousai was versatile in his methods of attack. And those methods were not limited to the battlefield. 

"Too hard on myself? You're an idealistic fool, Sato-san," he said softly, voice suffused with contempt. "You know nothing about me."

Sato-san blinked at his sudden change in demeanor, but the old man recovered from his surprise quickly. He frowned slightly. "That may be. You're not the first to call me a fool. But I beg your pardon, Himura Battousai. _You_, my boy, know nothing about _me_."

Sato-san reached for him then, and he flinched involuntarily, battle-reflexes bringing his good arm up halfway to fend off a blow that never came. 

His movement startled the old scholar more than his harsh words had. 

"I just want to take a look," Sato-san murmured, indicating Kenshin's bandages. "These need to be changed." 

The gentle, sure movements of Sato-san's deft hands matched the soothing tones of his voice as he unwrapped the taut lengths of cloth that bound Kenshin's arm and chest. The old man kept one hand firmly at the base of Kenshin's elbow, supporting the weight of the bad arm as the bandages came free. 

Kenshin tried to resist the kindness, but it was difficult. It had been a long time since he'd been in the presence of friendly company. Since he'd left the war, he'd wandered from place to place, working for food and a place to stay, but forming no attachments. He hadn't known the feeling of a kind touch since… when was the last time? He really ought to push Sato-san away, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Not just yet.

"You heal very quickly, Battousai," the old man said in approval. "Anyone ever tell you that?"

Kenshin nodded stiffly, still wary of the contact. He looked down at his side, oddly fascinated by the jagged, scabbed-over line of the new wound across his lower ribs. The stitches itched, which he supposed, must be a good sign. He saw no signs of infection. No redness, although his entire side consisted of an interesting array of greens, violets, and golds from his shoulder down to his hip, the remnants of the large bruise across his chest that had begun to diffuse itself and slowly heal. 

His collarbone was the main point of discomfort now. Movement of his arm still made him wince, and he thought he could feel his bones grating against each other each time he tried to move his shoulder. 

He disliked being injured. Disliked the feeling of hampered movement almost more than he disliked the actual pain. But considering how he'd felt a few days ago, he thought he was recovering fairly well based on his experiences with wounds in the past. 

Sato-san apparently shared that opinion. 

"I was going to wait a few more days to take out the stitches, but the wound looks good. I think they can go today." Sato-san lightly poked a bit at the stitches here and there, then took a thin knife and began cutting them and pulling them out one by one. He spoke slowly as he worked. "And perhaps we can ease up on the bandages. A sling for the arm, at least during the day, so it's not quite so constricted. We'll bind it tightly only at night since I can't be sure you won't accidentally roll onto that side. How does that sound?"

Kenshin tried to maintain the cold and aloof façade, but it was difficult doing so in light of such good news. The constriction from the tightly bound cloth really had been maddening. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe right with it. 

He briefly wondered if Sato-san was allowing this small bit of comfort to try to win him over: a morsel of freedom as an overture to friendship. 

He frowned. Slitted his eyes and remained silent in resistance.

"What, you don't want it loosened?" Sato-san smiled slightly. "Don't tell me it doesn't bother you."

Kenshin suspected the old man had figured out what he was trying to do. And apparently, Sato-san was confident that he'd win the contest of wills eventually. The old scholar was better at these mind games than Kenshin could ever be. Had more experience in dealing with people. Had the infinite, easy patience of an elder in the presence of a child. 

But Kenshin had an advantage. Battousai could be ruthless when the need arose.

"I've done things you can't imagine."

"Oh, I don't know. I've got quite an imagination, lad."

Kenshin turned his full gaze on Sato-san, cold as he could manage. And noted with some satisfaction, that the old man seemed nervous despite his efforts at kindness. 

"I killed my wife, Sato-san." Spoken flatly, with no hint of the guilt he carried deep in his heart. It was the only ammunition remaining in his repertoire, and he used it, knowing full well he would hurt himself far more with such a declaration than he would the old scholar. He pressed onward, his voice remarkably steady. "Your son's death was a joke in comparison. An afterthought, like swatting away an annoying fly."

He winced as the knife nicked him before Sato-san dropped it. 

Sato-san looked up from his work, his face pale.

Silence, except for the rain.  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Fumiko clutched the basket of food to herself more tightly as she adjusted her grip on her umbrella. She suppressed a shiver and shook a wet strand of hair from her eye in annoyance. Under normal circumstances, she would not have made the trip to her father-in-law's house in such weather. But she had promised him she'd visit today, had promised him a chance with that demon he kept in his house. 

She shuddered. She dreaded meeting Battousai again. 

She'd had nightmares of golden eyes last night. Although she'd never been near a battlefield, she'd dreamed vividly of Masaki's death, of Battousai cutting a path through their company. Of silver blades flashing in the night, arcs of blood spraying against the starry sky. And she'd watched helplessly as Battousai faced her husband, golden eyes unflinching as he ruthlessly, and efficiently beheaded the man she loved.

The monster had beheaded her husband. Clinically, methodically, and doubtlessly without a shred of emotion, she thought. That was how they'd found Masaki's body. No wounds at all otherwise. Not a mark on him. Just that his head was found yards away, eyes still open in surprise.

Fumiko willed herself not to cry. It was years ago. She'd stopped crying years ago, but Battousai's presence brought it all back as if it happened yesterday. And along with the pain of loss came the rage, the sense of unfairness and helplessness. And the desire for vengeance. 

She blinked, forcing her thoughts to something else, something not quite so intense. She was carefully making her way down the slippery cliff-side path, Noriya's small house easily visible below. She concentrated on her footing, focusing on the here and now rather than the horrific images that had haunted her last night. 

She took a deep breath, preparing herself. She would go to her father-in-law's house with a clear mind. Noriya had asked her a favor for the first time since she'd ever known him. And after all he'd done for her and Isamu, it was the least she could do to try and honor her word to him. It was difficult though, to suppress the urge to kill Battousai. Difficult to stop fantasizing about seeing him hang in the town square. If it had been anyone else who'd asked her to put aside those feelings, she wouldn't have done it. Dear old Noriya, however, she couldn't refuse. 

The house was only a few yards away now, the shoji slightly open. She could see the warmth of firelight spilling from the doorway and windows, and she relished the thought of sitting at his comfortable hearth, of warming her numb fingers and sipping some tea. 

She set the wet umbrella down on the engawa. 

"Noriya-san," she called softly before sliding the shoji open. "Noriya-san, I've brought…"

She stopped as the two men inside turned to her in surprise. Something was wrong.

"Noriya-san?" she asked apprehensively, setting down the basket and sliding the shoji shut. 

Noriya's face was white as sheet. But he seemed otherwise unharmed despite his distressed expression. There was a bloodied knife on the floor, but Battousai was the one who was bleeding. 

Noriya-san swallowed and attempted a rather sickly smile in an attempt to regain his composure. 

"It's all right, love," he said, some of his color returning. "Himura-san and I were just having an interesting little debate."

"Is that so?" She looked at her father-in-law, long and hard, not quite believing him despite his reassurances. "What did he say to you, otou-san? You look very upset."

"I am upset," he answered with a wry smile. "I just cut a patient while trying to remove his stitches. Very clumsy of me. I must be getting old."

So that's how it was going to be. Stubborn old man wasn't going to tell her what was wrong. Fumiko frowned. She could very well guess though. It didn't take any brains to figure out that Battousai had probably said something terribly hurtful to the old man, and Noriya, kind-hearted soul that he was, was trying to hide that fact. 

"What did he say to you?" she repeated.

"Nothing, Fumiko-chan," Noriya answered smoothly, back to his old self. "He tried to convince me of something, but he didn't succeed, I'm afraid." 

Noriya gave Battousai an odd look. The assassin's gaze was unreadable as the old man spoke. 

"You can't fool me, Himura-san," he said, his voice oddly gentle. "That was a good try. Almost had me there. But you can't convince me of something if your heart's not in it. I stand by what I said. You're too hard on yourself."

Battousai looked away.

Noriya sniffed the air experimentally and smile as he eyed Fumiko's food basket. "What have we here?" he asked with evident pleasure. "Fumiko-chan, you spoil me so."

Fumiko shook her head and gave up. 

Noriya-san did whatever Noriya-san liked, and she'd learned long ago not to bother trying to figure out a situation if Noriya wasn't in the mood to discuss it further. So whatever had passed between the assassin and the old scholar would remain a mystery, at least for the time-being. 

She brought the basket to where the two men were sitting, smiling at her father-in-law and pointedly ignoring the assassin who occupied the space across from them. 

Noriya-san expressed his delight as she took out the meal she'd prepared. She'd made more than enough for all three of them, but she continued to ignore the assassin as she placed his share in front of him. She couldn't deal with Battousai at the moment. She'd lose her appetite if she did, so she kept her attention on her father-in-law, enjoying his company as he chatted contentedly on inconsequential things.

She was thankful for his distracting anecdotes and knew that he was keeping the conversation light for her sake. Noriya was a brilliant man. He never did anything without a reason. And those who knew him best knew that even light, seemingly spur-of-the-moment actions on his part, were often done with a purpose in mind. Right now, he was keeping her comfortable, knowing that Battousai's presence disturbed her. She knew it, and despite her knowledge of it, it still worked. Fumiko found herself relaxing, the tension in her shoulders easing. 

She noted that Battousai had barely touched his food. However much he'd disturbed Noriya-san this afternoon, Fumiko noted with some satisfaction that the assassin seemed equally upset himself. Whatever was causing his discomfort, though, Fumiko had no intention of doing anything to help him. She couldn't understand what Noriya-san saw in the young man.

She trusted her father-in-law. More so than her own parents. Trusted Noriya and Hideo (whom she thought of as an uncle) to always keep her best interests at heart, to ensure her well-being. But when it came to the old man's own well-being, she wasn't so sure of Noriya-san's judgment. He was too kind. Too trusting of people. And even though he'd told her that he strongly believed in Battousai's latent good nature, she still couldn't quite accept it. She needed proof, needed to see for herself. And so, after the meal was done, she decided it was time to voice her request.

"Noriya-san," she murmured quietly for her father-in-law's ears alone as she gathered up the dishes. "I wish to speak with Battousai alone. Do you think that's safe?"

Noriya's eyebrows lifted. "Aren't you full of surprises. Here I thought you'd have nothing to do with him. You've been avoiding him all evening."

"I've been preparing for battle," she said simply.

The old scholar blinked as understanding dawned on him. "I hope he passes your test, Fumiko-chan. Gods help him if he doesn't," he said softly. "Yes, I think it's safe. You know that."

With that, Noriya made a show of stretching and yawning. He grabbed a thick blanket and a jar of sake and headed for the door. The rain had stopped sometime during their meal, and if tonight was like any other, Hideo-san would be arriving soon for their daily routine of drinking sake on the pier. 

Fumiko suppressed a knowing smile. She could almost hear old Hideo complaining about how cold the dock was. And Noriya would respond with some mild comment on how beautiful the night was. They'd been doing that for almost twenty years now, the two old men. 

"Come get me if Himura-san needs anything for pain, Fumiko-chan," her father-in-law said. He hesitated only a moment before he went outside. 

Fumiko thought it best not to tell him that she had no intention of doing so.

She finished cleaning the dishes and poured herself a cup of hot tea. She was suddenly afraid, now that she was in the house alone with Battousai. She knew he was still weak, could still barely walk on his own let alone harm her in any way, but just the idea of being in a room with the infamous hitokiri made her knees weak. 

She kept that fear carefully hidden as she sat down across from the assassin. She refused to betray any weakness in front of this man. 

"If you're hoping for an apology, you won't get it," she said matter-of-factly. "If Noriya-san hadn't come in, I most likely wouldn't have stopped hitting you. If I had a weapon in hand, I would have gladly used it. If I could have killed you, I would have done so. And enjoyed it."

The assassin looked at her. Silent, expressionless. 

"But I made a promise to my father-in-law. I told him I'd give him three days before I decided whether or not to turn you in to the council. Did he tell you that? That he would allow me to have you arrested if you didn't convince me in that time?"

From the small flicker of surprise in the golden eyes, Fumiko could tell that Noriya had not mentioned this to the hitokiri. 

"So. He didn't say anything to you," she said. "I'm not surprised. I suppose he was trying to spare you from worrying. A trip to the gallows… not a pleasant thing to contemplate, is it."

"What do you want from me?" the assassin asked quietly. Fumiko was almost disappointed to detect no hint of any challenge in his tone of voice.

"I want what you can't give. I want my husband back."

The golden eyes lowered, stared fixedly at the ground. The assassin gave no response.

His silence enraged her.

"Do you have any idea what you took from me?" she asked. 

"Isamu has no memory of his father. He will never know him. He'll never know Masaki's kind smile, nor his gentle touch, his warm voice. His father will never show him how to fish, to write his name, to tie a hakama properly. He'll never greet his father as he comes home from a hard day's work. He'll never climb onto his father's lap to hear a bedtime story. He'll never have any of these things because of you. You stole half my son's childhood away.

"And you stole my future from me. I have no lord. I am the keeper of an empty house. As a woman, I have no purpose in life other than to keep my home and serve my lord. You've taken my purpose away. You've taken him from me. And you've taken any chance of a family with him from me. We were trying for a daughter, Masaki and I, before he left for war. We never had any more chances because of you. No chance of a daughter now. You've even taken that dream away from me.

"Do you even remember your victims? Do you remember my husband's face? I hear you had a wife once. You had a wife, and you killed her too, so they say. Do you even know what it means to love? Did you hurt at all when you killed her? Or was she just like all the others? What's one more death in the face of so many? 

He remained silent, but his face had gone white, as pale as Noriya's face had been hours before. Fumiko didn't know what to make of it exactly, but it was finally a reaction. Finally, something other than the expressionless mask. She pushed onward. 

"What, have you nothing to say? Have you no shame at all? No regrets?" she asked. "Tell me something to ease my pain. Tell me something that will bring meaning to my husband's death. Tell me there's something in you worth saving like my father-in-law believes. Tell me you're not playing my father-in-law for a fool, that there's actually some shred of decency within you like he's so desperate to believe. Tell me you have a heart, Battousai."

The amber eyes looked up at her. 

She almost gasped at what she saw.

"I can't," whispered the assassin so softly, she barely heard him. 

She set down her tea, stood slowly and took the basket she'd brought. 

"Then you're a lost cause," she said calmly. "And I'm wasting my time."

She slid the shoji open and gathered her umbrella. She turned and regarded the assassin one last time before she closed the door. He hadn't moved from his position. He didn't look up at her again.

Fumiko slid the shoji shut, her heart pounding and her hands trembling. She leaned against one of the pillars of the engawa and closed her eyes, shaken. 

For one brief moment, Battousai's mask had slipped. 

And Fumiko had seen into the assassin's heart.

  


  


  
To be continued.

  


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**Author's Note:**  


My schedule is insane this semester, and it's not going to let up anytime soon. I usually don't like to reveal much about myself on-line, but I really do feel obligated to explain why I took so long with this chapter. I'm currently a graduate student in film school. We're shooting a short film this month, and it's sucking up time like you wouldn't believe. I spent 14 hours the other day getting permits and other forms signed and hunting for locations. And the rest of the time we're shooting. All this is done on the weekends. I have classes on weekdays, often lasting until 10PM. I haven't even had a chance to do my homework reading assignments for the last two weeks yet. So I hope you folks don't mind too much if I slow down on this story and take more time between chapters. I'm really sorry, but this fic is lower on my priority list than my schoolwork (as it should be.) I love my classes and my film project, and I want to devote my full attention to it. My apologies for the delays. I will try my best to keep the wait to a minimum. Unlike my other unfinished fic, I have no problems with writer's block for this one. The chapters come fairly easily. It's just a matter of finding a sufficient chunk of time to write. Anyways, I'll do my best. Thanks so much for your understanding.

As ever, thanks so much to the kind reviewers: Wolfgirl13, ESP, kenshin_admirer, Calger459, Wistful-Eyes, Melissa, SilverKnight7, missaw, mvdiva, TYDYE girl, Ari and Kat, fujifunmum, Rarity, Henrika, SkyDancerHawk, Crazy Girl Person, Poppy2, Shaolin 10, Naiya-chan, AnkaraStark, Maeve Riannon, supernaturalove, Melissa, majoranka, Mir, and Shadowsage Hopesong.

  


  
  
  
  
  



	7. Ch 7 ::: Instinct

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuke, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and VIZ Comics. This is a non-profit work for entertainment purposes only. Permission was not obtained from the above parties.  
  


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**  
Against a Sea of Troubles: Chapter 7 – Instinct**  
by Haku Baikou  
02.Mar.2004 

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__Noriya kept a careful eye on Himura as they made their way along the beach. He walked slowly, making sure the boy could keep up. He was impressed that Himura had the energy to walk steadily despite the fact he'd rarely been out of bed and had only had a few cups of miso soup and some rice in the last six days. Himura had an impressive strength that belied his small frame, and even in the dark mood the boy was currently in, Noriya could sense the fire that must have burned behind those amber eyes when he was strong and fit.

Noriya sighed quietly to himself, concerned for the lad. Fumiko had left without a word, Noriya had discovered when he and Hideo returned to the house last night. It was unlike her to leave without saying goodbye. And judging from the pallor of Himura's face, the exchange had not gone particularly well. 

Himura had not revealed what the two had talked about, much to Noriya's frustration. The boy had shut himself off since Fumiko's visit, reverting to the tight-lipped silent stranger he'd been when they'd first found him. He'd taken to sitting on the window sill, staring listlessly off towards the sea. He'd stopped talking and only responded to the most direct of questions, seemingly more out of courtesy than any real desire for socializing. 

Noriya had expected that whatever Fumiko said to the boy would be more than a little upsetting. Fumiko-chan had a way with words, could make a person want to shrivel inside his own skin and slink off to hide in shame in some dark corner somewhere. She'd done it plenty of times to poor Hideo whenever the greengrocer said anything inappropriately caustic in public (which was, unfortunately, rather often). But Hideo could handle the young woman's scoldings since he knew she did so out of concern for him. Himura hadn't had any such knowledge to lessen the sting of her words. 

The day had come and gone, and Fumiko had not come back to visit today. And Himura had spent the day staring at the waves thinking… gods only knew what. 

By sunset, Noriya had had quite enough. 

"Come with me. We're going for a walk," he'd said to the boy impulsively as it suddenly occurred to him that it would do Himura a bit of good to get out of the house. Young men, wounded or no, generally didn't take well to being cooped up indoors for days on end. 

That suggestion had finally garnered a response. Himura had stared at Noriya as if he thought Noriya had gone completely mad. 

"Someone will see me—" the boy had protested.

"It's dark out. We'll risk it. You've always known people were coming long before we could see them. The only one you can't seem to sense is Fumiko-chan." And when the amber eyes had continued to stare at him in disbelief: "And from far away, you look like her, no offense. No one will think anything of it."

Without another word, and despite the foolhardiness of his idea, Noriya had helped Himura get dressed in his now-mended gi and hakama. Soon he and the boy were out the door, strolling along the sand with a pleasant breeze blowing from the water.

They walked along the beach in silence, Noriya enjoying himself, while Himura remained wary, eyes scanning their surroundings constantly as they ascended the cliff side path. The boy's skittishness was almost making Noriya uncomfortable. 

But at least the apathy was gone, thought Noriya, which was the thing that mattered most. Any kind of emotion was better for the boy than the leaden despair that had settled over him for the last day. It was worth the risk of going outside. Besides, with the cliff as high as it was, they really wouldn't be visible to anyone on the main roads. And Noriya truly did trust that the boy would know if anyone approached. They were safe. He was certain of it. 

Noriya decided it was time to breach the subject again. He hadn't mentioned anything of Fumiko's visit since last night, but hopefully the chance to get out of the house would have lifted the boy's spirits enough to allow them to talk at least a little. Noriya was an optimist. He had a feeling he'd get the boy to tell him eventually. 

"Himura-san…" he began. "Whatever Fumiko said to you—"

"She spoke the truth, Sato-san," said the boy softly. "She asked me some questions. That was all."

Noriya highly doubted it was as simple as the boy made it seem. 

"Fumiko has been angry for a long time, Himura-san. Death is difficult to accept for anyone, of course, but it's especially true of younger folks." Noriya said gently. "But as for me… I'm too damned old to waste my time on anger. I've got other things to live for. Fumiko-chan, Isamu-chan, Hideo…old friends…And new ones."

Himura looked at him with a thoughtful expression and frowned slightly. Noriya was only glad it wasn't the blank stare that had graced the boy's features since Fumiko's little talk with him yesterday.

"Yes, I'm talking about you, lad. You're a friend whether you like it or not," Noriya continued good-naturedly. "You've no choice but to accept it, Himura."

A long moment passed before the boy spoke, voice hesitant, sounding suddenly quite young. "Sato-san, I said things to you yesterday, that I regret."

Noriya waved a hand lazily, indicating that it was a thing of the past, that Himura could forget it ever happened. 

They walked in companionable silence. Noriya closed his eyes, relaxed. He'd lived by the sea all his life, and yet its beauty never ceased to have its effect on him. It was good to be outside, to feel the wind through the fabric of his gi. The ocean wind made him feel free in a way that breezes further inland could not. 

He almost yelped when Himura suddenly grabbed his arm in an almost painfully tight grip. "What the—"

"Quiet!" hissed the boy as he stilled, his gaze darting about them quickly, his stance suddenly rigid and tense.

Noriya resisted the urge to pull his arm out of Himura's grasp. He listened for whatever it was that had alarmed the boy, but he could hear nothing. If Himura was concerned about being discovered…. 

Noriya heard it then, the faintest sound, coming from far away. Someone crying out, but he couldn't tell who it was or what they were saying. 

Himura's grip on his arm loosened as the boy frowned. "Someone's fighting," he said softly. 

The sound was getting louder, and sure enough, Noriya could make out the sounds of metal ringing, of scattered shouts. And then: "_Noriya!_" A woman's voice, closer than the rest, screaming his name as she ran through the brush.

_Fumiko?_

He was running up the path then. 

Didn't remember deciding to move. Just recalled hearing a desperate _Sato-san, wait!_ from Himura. But the boy was too late. Noriya had taken off already, his daughter-in-law's safety his only concern.

He dimly realized he had no weapon, and he didn't know what he would do with whatever situation he found. And a small part of him, a small rational part, was begging him to slow down. To stop and consider the possibilities. To grab a weapon of some sort, at least, before charging into gods-knew-what kind of horrid scenario that awaited him. 

But all he heard was Fumiko-chan's desperate cry, and his mind had blanked out. And the next thing he knew, he was moving, speeding through the narrow path in the woods leading from the road near Fumiko's house, unheeded branches from shoulder-high brush whipping at his arms and face.

He saw her then as he rounded a corner, running towards him, and thankfully, alone. 

"Fumiko!" he cried, as she reached him, practically falling forward as she grabbed him shakily by the arms. "Are you hurt?"

She was winded, face flushed and hair in disarray. She gasped for breath, but seemed well enough to impatiently bat his hands away as he checked her frantically for injuries. "I'm fine," she said, as she finally managed to gather enough breath to speak. "But Etsuo… Akira… ran into bandits…."

"Etsuo?"

She nodded, swallowing large gulps of air. "Their patrol."

"Where's Isamu?" he asked her as he looked around for a thick branch, anything he could wield as a weapon.

"At my sister's." Fumiko coughed, was bringing her breathing under control. "I was coming to…to visit you…when I heard the fighting…. About a dozen men, maybe more."

He nodded and squeezed her arms briefly.

"Go to my place, Fumiko. Find Himura. Take my boat and go to town. Stay there. Send help."

"Noriya, you can't fight them alo—"

"Go! Damnit, girl!" he shoved her hard, almost sent her sprawling. Nearly had his heart stop with worry as she froze a moment, stubborn enough to consider staying with him. But she obeyed him then and moved. And with a quick backward glance, she turned and ran down the path towards his house.

He found a large, thick branch that would suffice as a makeshift club. Figured that a patrol from town usually had four men. Against twelve. Would have been easy enough odds for young Etsuo if he and his friends were hardened warriors instead of a squad of untrained boys. Noriya's mouth hardened into a grim line as he ran.

The first man appeared, a black shadowy figure that burst forth from the shoulder-high brush to his right, a glint of steel visible in the moonlight. 

Noriya had fought in a few battles in his day, but had never been a warrior. And it had been a decade since he was last involved in any kind of fight. But despite the protesting creak of his bones, instinct took over, and skills drilled into him years ago suddenly surfaced as he ducked and rolled to the side. 

The bandit, who had been chasing Fumiko, was surprised by Noriya's presence. Noriya took full advantage of this fact. He swung the branch as hard as he could at the other man's shins and heard a satisfying crack and thump as his opponent tripped and landed hard on his face in the dirt. 

Noriya stared in shock for a moment. Fucking miracle, he'd managed to knock the bandit out cold. He stared at the unconscious man for a moment, not quite believing his luck. 

He got quickly up, wincing at the new aches and pains his little rolling stunt had caused him. He was definitely too old for this kind of exertion. 

He grabbed the bandit's sword, and kept going, trying not to think about the insanity of the situation he was in. He'd freeze if he thought about it too much. He only hoped that he could surprise his next opponent in the same way as he did the first. He knew he had no chance of winning in a fair fight. His tactics weren't exactly honorable, he thought with a twinge of guilt, but it was the only way he could manage, being as rusty and out of shape as he was. 

Shouts to his left drew him onward, and he came eventually to a clearing where Etsuo and two strangers were engaged in combat. They fought clumsily, he saw, none of them particularly well-trained. But desperation and the vitality of youth had lent them a ferocity that made up for lack of skill. Etsuo swung his swords in wide arcs, somehow, managing to keep both opponents at bay. 

Noriya grasped the unfamiliar sword firmly in both hands and, with a deep breath and silent prayer, rushed forward soundlessly into the fray. One of the bandits must have sensed his movement for the man turned suddenly with a roar and charged toward him full tilt. 

The bandit swung his sword wildly in a quick succession of arcs that Noriya barely had time to block. His opponent may have been an untrained ruffian, but he was young with a young man's strength and speed. Noriya's strength was flagging, the short burst of energy from his initial fear now spent. His past training kept him alive, but barely, as the bandit's swings came in closer and closer.

And then it happened. His sword was knocked from his hand, landing against the roots of a nearby tree with a sickening dull clatter. Noriya watched in an oddly detached horror as the younger man began to swing his sword in for the kill. 

"No!" Etsuo's voice cut in suddenly.

Noriya's opponent started in surprise, turning toward the new threat in mid-swing. His arm twisted as he did so, Noriya realized dazedly, for the blow that should have sliced Noriya in two, knocked the wind out of him instead as the flat of the blade, not the edge, hit him hard against his gut.

He dropped to his knees, gasping for breath, stars swimming in his vision. He was vaguely aware of young Etsuo blocking another swing from the bandit Noriya was fighting. He heard a shout from a third man and realized that Etsuo's previous opponent had not been dealt with and was now joining his comrade in a combined effort against the young patrolman. 

Etsuo was doomed, Noriya knew, unless Noriya could get his breath back and help the young man. But he couldn't breathe right, let alone fight. And when he tried to stand, the edges of his vision began to black out, so he stayed as he was, hoping he'd recover soon enough.

He heard a grunt of surprise as one of their opponents went down. Didn't have a chance to see how young Etsuo had managed to do it. But there was only one bandit left now, the man who had initially been fighting with Etsuo. 

Noriya crawled towards the nearby tree where his sword had fallen and retrieved his weapon just as he heard Etsuo gasp in pain behind him. He turned to see the boy on his knees, hand pressed tightly against the side of his head, unable to get up. As his opponent lifted his sword, Noriya did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed a large rock and hurled it toward the bandit's head.

It caught the man on the shoulder, knocking him off balance for a quick moment before the man regained his footing and turned toward the direction of the throw. Noriya held his sword in readiness and blinked, trying to clear the last stray stars from his vision. He tried to slow his breathing, to gather his flagging strength as the man rushed towards him with a fierce howl.

He blocked the man's first swing, arms straining against a force much stronger than his own, turning his blade so that the man's blow was deflected to the side. Took two quick steps to his right as his opponent overbalanced and had to step to his left to keep from falling. Swung his own sword toward the opponent, but was too slow, and the man managed to block Noriya's attack. His opponent side stepped, then kneed Noriya in the gut, sending him sprawling once again. 

He scrambled to turn onto his back and hold up his sword to block whatever came next. Saw, with dismay, his opponent's blade already flashing downward at him before he'd had time to bring his own blade up. 

A blur. A gust of wind. A dull crack. A hiss of pain. 

A moment of pure disorientation.

And next thing he knew, the bandit's sword landed with a thud in the grass, the man cradling his sword hand against his chest, gasping in agony at what seemed to be a broken wrist. 

Noriya frowned in confusion, his grip on his own sword gone slack. The bandit was staring at something behind him, the man's eyes wide in apparent terror. He seemed too frightened to move. 

Noriya sat up and turned around. And forgot to breathe a moment as he saw, standing utterly still behind him, a darkened silhouette. 

And a hitokiri's amber eyes.

"Run." A soft voice that promised death if unheeded.

Realization slowly dawned on the bandit's face as the man understood he was being spared. Eyes wide, he backed away, slowly at first, practically tripping on the uneven ground behind him. The bandit turned then, and ran, stumbling away into the brush, fleeing as if he thought the very demons of hell would be following upon his heels. 

"Himura-san?" Noriya whispered, afraid of a sudden, though he knew the boy would never harm him. 

Himura took a step forward and came out of the shadow into the moonlight, and Noriya's fear changed to alarmed concern. Even in the darkness, Noriya could see the boy was pale, and his left hand, which held an empty sword sheath, shook uncontrollably. 

A sheath. So that was the dark blur that Noriya had seen. Himura had broken the man's wrist with a hard swipe of an empty saya. 

"You all right?" asked Noriya.

The boy nodded. "You?"

"I'm fine." Noriya stood shakily, trying not to think how close he came to being severed in two. "Is that sheath from the man I tripped back on the path?" he asked conversationally, trying to maintain his calm. 

Another nod.

It was a stupid question of course. He knew of no other place Himura could have obtained the weapon. But Noriya wasn't exactly at his best at the moment.

He stumbled over to where Etsuo lay, gently running his hands over the boy to see where he was hurt. He had a large lump on the side of his head and a few gashes on his arms and shoulder, but nothing that seemed life threatening as far as Noriya could tell. The head injury was the biggest concern. They were tricky, Noriya knew. Head injuries could sometimes be far more serious than they appeared on the surface.

"I caught that man back on the path by surprise as he was chasing Fumiko. Hid low and tripped him up with a thick branch as he came out of the brush. Not very honorable, I'm afraid," Noriya babbled as he tapped at Etsuo's face lightly, waking the boy. "I'm no warrior, Himura. Never could do well in a fight."

Himura said nothing. The boy leaned on the saya, head bowed.

"Etsuo," Noriya said gently. "Come on, lad. Wake up, now."

"Where is Fumiko-san?" asked Kenshin as he looked around at the small clearing. 

Noriya frowned. "You mean she's not at my place?"

The amber eyes looked at him. "Iya."

"She should have passed you," said Noriya with a growing sense of urgency in his gut.

"I haven't seen her," Himura replied, a note of concern in his voice.

Etsuo's eyes blinked blearily at that moment as the boy finally came to and looked around in confusion. "Noriya-san?"

Himura froze, stopped speaking, and stepped back again, effectively melting into the shadows as Noriya helped young Etsuo to sit.

"Etsuo, lad, you gave me quite a fright for a moment," Noriya said, keeping his voice confident despite his worries about Estuo's head wound and his growing fear for Fumiko. "Think you can stand up?"

"Who was that?" asked Etsuo, face still blank with disorientation. 

"Who are you talking about, boy?" asked Noriya, making sure Etsuo was facing away from the spot where Himura stood.

"I thought I saw someone else here," Etsuo mumbled, hand automatically reaching for his aching head, and wincing when he discovered caked blood in his hair.

"There's no one here but the two of us," said Noriya. "Now let's get you to your feet, lad. Come on. Up we go."

He took the boy by the arms and hefted him up to his feet. It was a painfully slow process. Noriya was impatient, wanted to get the boy up and moving so he could go running off to find Fumiko again. 

Etsuo shook his head to clear it, then instantly seemed to regret the motion as he groaned in pain and promptly passed out again. 

"Dammit," Noriya swore desperately as he grabbed onto the boy before he could fall on his face. He bent his knees, getting his shoulder under the boy's arm, supporting him best as he could. Hopefully Etsuo would wake up enough to help him by walking, but if not, Noriya was prepared to drag the young man all the way back home.

Noriya froze as he heard the sound of shouts in the distance. No way to tell if those were other boys from town or if they were more bandits. 

He turned to say something to Himura, but the boy was already walking away. 

"Oi, where are you going?"

"Take your friend away from here, Sato-san," said Himura without looking back. "I'll look for Fumiko-san."

"You can't stay here by yourself! There are more of them out there. Come with us."

Himura stopped and turned around. "If there are more of them out there, they'll catch up to us before we get far." Spoken reasonably, and with a calm Noriya greatly envied at the moment.

"I'll stay then. You take Etsuo—"

"I can't carry him, Sato-san."

"You're in no condition to fight! You can't face more of them." Noriya looked at the boy, trying to suppress an awful feeling of dread. "Kami-sama, you're shaking, Himura. Don't think I can't see it."

Himura smiled grimly, a strange gleam in his eye. 

"You underestimate Battousai, Sato-san," the boy said softly.

"Battousai hell!" Noriya looked at the sheath in Himura's hand. "Take a sword, at least. I'll not have you fighting brigands with a fucking sheath!"

"Iya." Himura shook his head. And with that, he turned and walked away.

"Himura! I'm taking him to Hideo's house. It's closer. Look for us there!" he called out to the boy. Himura nodded once, then continued walking. 

"Damn him," Noriya hissed furiously as Himura disappeared from view. 

Scared, angered, desperate. 

Everything had happened so quickly. He wondered how warriors could stand it, the mercurial shift of events they must have faced every night they went to fight. It made a man's mind spin. 

Noriya was a scholar, dammit. Scholars didn't get involved in crazed battles. Scholars like their world running at a sane pace. A slow pace with time to think.

He didn't have time to think. He needed to get Etsuo taken care of. Needed to find Fumiko-chan. Needed to warn the town. Needed to go after Himura and somehow keep the boy from getting himself killed. 

Etsuo mumbled something incoherent, the boy's face buried in his shoulder. 

Noriya took a deep breath. Calm himself. First things first. 

Murmuring an assurance to the boy, he hefted Etsuo up into a more comfortable position and began to make his way toward the safety of a friend's house. 

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
He leaned against a tree and allowed himself a brief moment of rest once he was out of sight from the old man. He pressed his hand gingerly to the bad shoulder, trying to ease the throbbing ache that pulsed down his entire arm. Ironic now, that the taut, constricting bandages that had given him such grief over the past week were now the very thing he wished he had again. The new sling that Sato-san had fashioned yesterday did wonders for his comfort when he was sitting still in Sato-san's house. But out here, in the middle of a fight, it didn't offer nearly enough support. Every time he turned, the sling swung and his shoulder shifted, and he felt as if his arm were being pulled from its socket. 

He kept a firm grip on the saya, not daring to tuck it in his hakama for fear he wouldn't have the reflexes and speed to draw it out in time should he encounter any of the enemy. He wrapped his good arm, saya and all, around the sling, hugging it close to himself, supporting his bad shoulder as best as he could as he walked. 

Sato-san was right. He was damnably weak and in no condition to fight. It had taken all the will he could muster to run after the old man, to follow him to the clearing. Swinging the saya at the bandit had drained him more than he expected. And his legs felt wobbly with fatigue, his knees threatening to buckle and give out on him if he did much more this night. 

But Fumiko-san was missing, and he couldn't allow anything to happen to her. He couldn't even conceive of how he'd feel if she came to harm while he had breath left in his body. And with that thought, he pushed himself upright and forced his feet to move, backtracking along the path to Noriya's house, looking for a point in which the woman may have strayed off the path. 

He sensed the other man coming before he could see anything, but a rustle among the leaves prepared him for where the man would emerge from the brush. He waited, sensing from the quick flare of ki, that this one would not be a mere amateur. This man, whoever he was, was skilled enough to possess the ki of a warrior.

There. A few yards ahead, the man burst forth from the grass and brush, looking about warily, anticipating an adversary. As Kenshin had guessed. This one had skill enough to sense that Kenshin lay in wait on the path. 

The man turned towards him sword held steadily before him, body crouched, ready to attack. Kenshin took his time with his approach, studying the man as he neared.

He was dressed like the other bandits, nothing different in his apparel, but there was an air about him that told Kenshin this was a captain of sorts. A leader among the bandits, his position obvious by his confident manner, by the faint aura of power about him.

The man studied him in turn, squinting in the darkness, his vision apparently not as sharp as Kenshin's own despite the bright moonlight. The man's eyes widened of a sudden, his breath drawn in a sudden hiss. 

But it wasn't fear or anger that followed, as Kenshin expected. The man's expression was clearly unafraid. If anything, the man seemed almost…glad to see him.

"Hitokiri Battousai," the stranger breathed in awe, in obvious excitement. 

Kenshin remained silent, keeping himself ready in case this was some kind of trick.

"Battousai," the stranger lowered his sword. "What are you doing here? Have you come to help us?" Kenshin nearly cringed at the eager sound of hope in the other man's voice. "My name is Sakamoto. I saw you fight once, in Kyoto. You saved my life that night, though I'm sure you wouldn't remember. I remember though…. I'll never forget."

Kenshin stared, then made a quick effort to mask his shock at this unexpected turn of events. So, these bandits were former Ishin Shishi men. He should have realized it long ago based on the way they fought, but he'd been so preoccupied with Noriya's safety and Fumiko's whereabouts…. 

"Kami-sama," said the man. "I never thought to see you here!"

Kami-sama indeed, thought Kenshin. He'd been a fool not to have known. 

"I'm looking for a woman," he answered carefully. 

His opponent blinked. "You mean the one who saw us? Yes, of course. We must find her. If she tells the townsfolk, they'll send reinforcements for sure. Be careful, Battousai. This town supports the shogunate. Bad enough they find me and my men, but you…you'd be a major catch for them. They'll show you no mercy."

The man noticed that Kenshin still had not lowered his sword. "There's no need for the weapon here. You're among friends." Confusion began to seep through his earnest face. "You are trying to stop her, aren't you?"

"The woman is important to me," Kenshin said. "I would not want to see her hurt."

The stranger cocked his head to one side. "I don't understand. She's a shogunate supporter. She's with the other side."

"The war is over. There are no more sides."

"Of course there are. Maybe not officially, but there are always sides. You…" The man frowned and took a step back. "You're not here to help us then?"

"Are you stealing from these people, Sakamoto-san? Are you killing them?" Kenshin asked. He was tired. He didn't want to hear the answer. And despite his disapproval for what the bandits were doing, he didn't want to see the look of betrayal in this man's eyes. Yet another person he hurt without even trying. He was getting good at that.

"We're starving, Battousai. We have no choice." The man's voice hardened. He raised his sword again, though it was obvious he didn't want to use it.

"Where is the woman?" Kenshin pressed, although he was pretty sure the man hadn't found Fumiko-san yet, else he wouldn't have been searching through the brush himself.

Kenshin began to move forward. 

Sakamoto was looking at him more closely now, noting his injured arm, his lack of a true weapon. It didn't take a warrior to realize Kenshin was exhausted, barely able to stand. 

Sakamoto stood his ground. It was a show of courage that was impressive, considering the man knew fully well what Kenshin was capable of. Even weakened as he was, Kenshin knew that he terrified the man. He could see it in the way Sakamoto's breathing had quickened, the way his fingers shifted nervously as he gripped his sword.

"I don't want to fight you, Battousai," said Sakamoto, voice slightly shaky as he took one involuntary step back. 

"You're in my way," said Kenshin quietly, continuing his advance. 

"Damn," the man murmured. And visibly steeling his courage, he let out a shout that was part battle cry and part scream of terror. Sakamoto swung his sword and lunged toward Kenshin, initiating battle. 

Kenshin sidestepped the blow barely in time, could feel the hiss of air as the blade narrowly missed his neck. Sakamoto had deliberately aimed toward his bad side, knowing it would be the most difficult for him to defend. But Kenshin had seen it coming and taken counter-steps, ducking and twisting and bringing up the saya to clip the man on the back of the head. 

They parted after the first pass, Sakamoto wincing and rubbing his head, Kenshin winded and clutching at his shoulder.

Kenshin had the disheartening thought that he had suffered more from the exchange even though technically, he was the one who had won this particular round. Even more upsetting, was the confusing sense of gladness he felt on Sakamoto's behalf. It was a bewildering thought, this self-opposing desire to see Sakamoto do well in this fight. Kenshin frowned, disturbed by the odd turn his thoughts were taking. 

Sakamoto initiated a second pass, sword thrusting forward in an astonishing imitation of a common Shinsengumi technique. Kenshin had seen it coming, but still, he was impressed by the man's ingenuity, his willingness to use the technique of an enemy to augment his own. He deflected the blow with the saya, turning to the side to avoid being stabbed. And when Sakamoto spun around, using momentum to come for another attack from the side, Kenshin blocked again, ducking out of the way as the saya snapped in two from the sharp edge of Sakamoto's blade. Anticipating the destruction of the sheath, Kenshin snapped his arm upwards as he fell, catching Sakamoto on the chin with the jagged edge of the sheath's severed end. 

A small spray of blood as Sakamoto grunted in surprise, his head snapping back from the force of the blow. It was the last thing Kenshin saw as he landed badly on his right side, and his vision whited out as his shoulder hit the ground.

  
_Silence, but for the soft thrill of a cool breeze. _

_Blue skies. Wisps of clouds. _

_White plum blossom petals tumbling lazily as they drifted to the ground._

_A small house. The pleasant scent of dinner being cooked on the fire._

_He stood in the waist high grass, looking toward the house, and began to sprint._

_His steps light. His body strong. No pain, no fatigue. No thoughts. No obligations._

_He smiled. Laughed. Enjoyed the glorious feeling of running home._

_He bounded through the doorway._

_Blinked a bit at the relative darkness of the interior._

_And saw lovely dark eyes look up at him. A hint of a smile on her small, delicate mouth._

_He smiled back._

_Hold onto this moment, he remembered thinking to himself. _

_Hold onto this memory._

_Hold onto this feeling._

_For you know it won't last._

_Battousai will steal it and take it all away…._

  
He opened his eyes. Knew he had been dreaming. Absurd visions of a life that was never meant to be. 

He wondered if he was losing his mind.

He sat up and looked around him. Looked down at Sakamoto's unconscious form draped across his legs. The man had fallen on top of him, blood from a gash on his chin and lip trickling onto the fabric of Kenshin's hakama. 

He sat as he was, pinned beneath his opponent, too tired to try to roll the man over and free himself.

He buried his face in his good hand, rubbing his eyes. He tried not to think. Tried not to remember what he had almost done in the last moment of the fight. 

He was Battousai. They were one and the same. He would always be Battousai. And no matter how hard he tried to turn over a new leaf, Battousai's thoughts always intruded. Always found a way in. Not the emotionally crazed berserker that the public feared, but the emotionless fiend whose cold logic had believed in murder for the greater good. A part of him would always be the detached, ruthless assassin. Would always go for the killing stroke. Would always….

Would always want to do what he had almost done to Sakamoto. 

He shuddered. Almost. He'd come so very close to doing the unthinkable.

He'd caught the enemy on the chin with his saya, had resisted the impulse to do worse at the last minute. 

Kenshin had almost aimed the jagged saya at the tender, vulnerable flesh of Sakamoto's neck. Had almost given in to the logical conclusion that a dead opponent was safer than a living one. It would have been so simple to crush the man's windpipe, to rip apart his jugular, to do the safe and practical thing by finishing him off once and for all. 

All he'd had to do was to tilt the saya a fraction of an inch downward….

"No," he said, face still in his hand, mind envisioning how the fight would have ended had he given in to instinct and gone for the kill.

"So, I'm still a killer." The admission was to himself….

And to the person he sensed coming up the path behind him.

Soft footfalls hesitated at his words, then continued past him and stopped before him. 

He opened his eyes finally. Saw the hem of a delicately patterned kimono, stained with mud. Saw the knees bending and a delicate hand reaching for the sword that Sakamoto had recently dropped. 

His eyes followed that hand as it pointed the sword at him. He stared at the gleaming tip, then let his gaze travel upwards, finally settling on a pair of brown eyes tinged with a hint of fear, but otherwise revealing nothing.

She stared at him, eyes wide. Sword held steadily. Silent.

"I was looking for you," he said to her slowly, "Fumiko-san."

  
To be continued.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

All righty. Kind of a weird chapter, but I think it reflects the utter chaos that has been my life in the last few weeks. As I've warned people before, the chapters may take a while since school is crazily busy this semester. But I'm still enjoying working on this one, and I'm always happy to get back to writing the chapters. I have a couple of school project deadlines the next two weeks, a paper to write, and I'm getting over a bad cold, so I've been sleeping a lot. Hence, the lack of writing time. So apologies for the delays. And thanks so much for your patience. Spring break is coming up. I'll have time to write then. I look forward to doing so.

As always, many thanks to all the kind reviewers: Aroihkin Silverblade, Maeve Riannon, Emily, Conspirator and Co-conspirator, Bando-Eido no Megami-sama, Ruka, cardinal, greeneydgrl74, mvdiva, Shaolin 10, Melissa, Saitan-chan, Bishounen Hunter, Melissa, Wolfgirl13, fujifunmum, Poppy2, SilverKnight7, crystalblade726, Wistful-Eyes, tina, SkyDancerHawk, Naiya-chan, Calger459, kenshin_admirer, Rarity88, megumi-san, Mysti-chan, Let me think, Draken72, Linay, Henrika, baseballfreak202, seekin4therapy, silverrowan, Cattibrie393, Lily of the Shadow, and BakaBokken.


	8. Ch 8 ::: Roads

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuke, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and VIZ Comics. This is a non-profit work for entertainment purposes only. Permission was not obtained from the above parties.

* * *

**  
Against a Sea of Troubles: Chapter 8 – Roads**  
by Haku Baikou  
12.Jul.2004

* * *

She kicked the sheath away from the hitokiri, keeping the potential weapon well beyond his reach. She looked around briefly, making sure no one else was near. The wooded path was silent, save for the sound of distant crickets. A slight breeze made the night air almost unbearably cold, but she didn't shiver. Didn't move a muscle. This was not the time for showing vulnerability, Fumiko knew, as she held her sword steadily.

She kept her face impassive and her weapon trained on the throat of the killer before her as stray, morbid thoughts flitted about in her mind. She found herself wondering if Masaki saw those freakish golden eyes before he died. She hoped her Masaki had been one of the first to fall the night Battousai attacked his squad. Hoped that things had happened so quickly Masaki didn't have time to be afraid.

_Battousai_. Just thinking of the name made her sick. And the confusion from old Noriya's strange attitude towards the boy, and the boy's own odd behavior these past few days, did nothing to make her feel better.

But here he was in answer to her prayers, Hitokiri Battousai, pinned and helpless before her. She had waited for this moment for years. And if she killed him now, she would have no witnesses. The men in town would say this Ishin Shishi bandit had killed Battousai, that the two men had been found, both dead in the path. Yes, the bandit and Battousai had obviously killed each other.

Revenge without consequence. The opportunity to kill her enemy without being held accountable, without being charged for her crime, without taking her away from Isamu who needed her so. How she'd fantasized over the years….

"Don't," said Battousai, his voice quiet and disturbingly calm, as he looked at the blade in her hand. He didn't seem at all bothered by the situation, with him sitting defenselessly on the ground and Fumiko standing over him, clearly at an advantage. Why wasn't he afraid?

"Why shouldn't I kill you?" she murmured. "You deserve no less."

"Kill me, Fumiko-san… and you kill a part of yourself." The amber eyes locked upon hers, the gaze unwavering. Sato-san would not like that."

She stared in disbelief. "What would you know of Noriya-san's thoughts?"

Her words lacked conviction, however, for deep down, she knew the boy was right. Noriya would not approve. And neither, to be perfectly truthful, would her own conscience. She bit her lip in frustration. After all the years of longing. All the waiting. And when the situation finally presented itself…. It was cruel. Fate was so very cruel to tease her with this after she'd just begun to come to terms with Masaki's loss. Cruel that now, when she could finally have the revenge she'd dreamed of for years, she was no longer sure she wanted it.

She gripped the sword more tightly and bolstered her resolve.

"Where is Noriya-san? What have you done to him?" she demanded harshly, annoyed at herself for being weak-willed.

The amber eyes blinked in apparent surprise. "Nothing. He took Etsuo-san to Morim—"

"Etsuo? Etsuo-kun was out here?"

He nodded. "They went to Morimoto-san's house."

She frowned. "Why there? Are they all right?"

"Mostly."

Mostly? What was that supposed to mean?

"Why aren't you with him?" The sword was getting heavy. She took a risk and lowered it. There was always the possibility that Battousai was faking his weakness, a small part of her mind noted warily, that any minute he could push the dead man from off his legs and come at her. Overpower her. Take her sword and kill her with it in some horrifically gruesome manner—

She tensed suddenly at a movement of Battousai's good arm towards her sword. But he didn't reach for Fumiko's blade. Only adjusted his sling instead. She noticed then, that his hands were trembling badly. She doubted it was from fear of her.

"I came to find you," Battousai answered her question. And as always, failed to elaborate upon the minimal information he provided.

"Find me? And then what?" she asked.

"Sato-san said to bring you to Morimoto-san's house," answered Battousai, his voice suddenly sounding very tired. "But I don't know where that is."

She narrowed her eyes, her anger now starting to turn towards a new target.

"Noriya-san," she fairly growled. "You mean Noriya-san assumed you'd find me, and that we'd…what, bow to each other, and just merrily stroll over to Hideo-sa—"

Noises in the distance made them both freeze. The sounds of men moving through the brush, of weapons hacking away at brambles to clear a path, of soldiers calling quietly to each other as they roamed the forested path, searching. No doubt for Battousai or herself. No way to tell for certain which side those soldiers were on, but the voices didn't sound like the young men of the village. Which left only the Ishin bandits.

They were coming from the direction Fumiko would have to take to get to Hideo-san's house. Not good.

"Hideo-san's house is that way," she murmured softly, indicating the direction with a nod of her head. Battousai frowned in understanding as he realized it was where the enemy soldiers were.

"Somewhere else then," he agreed to her unspoken thoughts. "You should hurry."

She glanced at the hitokiri, mind racing. And damn it, but Noriya's insanity must be catching, for despite strong misgivings and doubts, Fumiko came to her decision. "Yes, we need to get out of here quickly," she said, not failing to notice Battousai's startled look at her choice of the word "we".

She ignored the amber stare as she set her sword down and pushed at the man lying atop the hitokiri's legs, rolling him off the boy.

"Careful," Battousai warned, just as the man let out a low groan. Fumiko yelped in surprised fright, yanking her hands away from the man and nearly falling from her sudden backward movement.

"He's alive!" she gasped. "You didn't kill him?"

Battousai's eyes widened, showing distress for the first time tonight. As if her assumption had hurt him.

"No," he answered.

Fumiko let out a shaky unsure breath. Battousai had spared a man….

She grabbed the sword again and looked closely at Battousai's fallen opponent. The man was stirring a bit, frowning and moaning, but with his eyes still closed. "We'll have to leave him. Neither of us can carry him. He isn't hurt too badly, is he? He won't die out here if we leave him?"

Battousai shook his head.

"All right then," she said and held out her hand to the hitokiri. "We'd best be going."

He hesitated a moment before taking her proffered hand and allowing her to help him stand. The boy was shaky. Very shaky, she noted.

"We could go back to Noriya-san's house," she said. "But we still might run into more of them. You're not up to fighting any more of them, are you?"

He shook his head. "No other choice."

She gripped the sword tightly in one hand and Battousai's hand in the other. Nodded and led him back down the path then, the way they she had come. She walked quickly as she could and was surprised that the hitokiri managed to keep up considering he looked as if he would fall over any second.

She hacked at the underbrush blocking their way as best she could, but she was unfamiliar with the feel of a sword, and progress was slow. It was some time before they could see the main road.

Two bandits stood in their way, blocking the path.

Battousai noticed them first. Tugged on Fumiko's arm in warning. Fumiko bit back a gasp when she saw them and quickly pulled the hitokiri off the side of the path to hide with her behind the trunk of a massive, gnarled tree. Her mouth suddenly dry, her heart pounding. She shut her eyes tightly, wishing she were back at home doing something civilized like arranging flowers or brewing tea.

"Did you hear something?" one of the men asked the other.

"Eh? Iya," said the other dismissively.

"I thought I heard something."

Fumiko opened her eyes to stare into amber pools that were completely calm as Battousai stood still beside her, listening intently to the men's conversation. To her utter dismay, she found herself taking comfort in the fact that the hitokiri was beside her. His slight, yet solid presence was shamefully reassuring. Fumiko wondered if she'd forgive herself for such weakness if she got out of this mess alive.

"Probably a squirrel," the other bandit was saying.

"No, I'm sure of it."

She heard the unmistakable hiss of steel as a sword was drawn, and she almost forgot to breathe.

"Kami," she whispered. "They're coming to check."

Fumiko did the only thing she could think of to do. She pressed the hilt of her sword into Battousai's good hand.

The hitokiri looked down, startled. "You trust me enough to give me this?" he whispered.

"Iya," she shook her head. "I trust _Noriya-san_ enough to give you this."

He frowned, but nodded grimly at her, seeming to relax from her words. As if he was more comfortable with that statement than he would have been had she declared her trust of him directly. But then the eerie golden eyes hardened as the men approached, and Battousai took the sword, readying himself to fight.

The first guard walked past their hiding spot, and as he turned and saw them, Battousai sprung into action. And Fumiko was struck with awe.

It happened so quickly. She couldn't really see what he had done, partly because of the darkness, but mostly because it happened too fast. One moment Battousai was standing next to her, and the next, he was gone. All she had been aware of was a rush of air, the soft rustle of clothing and a blur of dark red hair.

Then a soft thud and a low grunt of surprise as the first bandit went down hard.

The other guard, realizing what was happening, swung his sword up and took in a breath, ready to shout for help. But the man never had a chance to yell as Battousai's blade caught his, sending off sparks in the darkness. The bandit gasped, shook off the attack, and swung his sword around for a second pass.

A pass he never completed, as he too was struck by a lightning quick blade that Fumiko could barely see. A flash of metal, and a choked scream as the second man also went down, his sword thudding softly as it landed in the high grass.

Fumiko was stunned. The entire fight could not have lasted more than a minute. Two men were down, and she had no idea how it happened. She strained to see better in the soft moonlight, but all she could discern was Battousai kneeling on one knee, leaning against his sword, and two unconscious men at his feet.

She suppressed a shiver as she left her hiding spot hesitantly and stumbled over to the men. The night was still, and all she could hear was the steady harsh breathing of the hitokiri as he rested and gathered his strength.

Fumiko bent down and inspected the two bandits, afraid of what she would find. But they were both alive. Battousai had left them alive. And Fumiko could find no signs of blood anywhere despite searching through their clothing.

"Flat of the blade," Battousai said quietly in explanation, still breathing hard. "Slows me down though. Sumanai, this shouldn't have taken so long."

She could find nothing to say to that.

"They're lucky they weren't very good," the hitokiri added. Strange, but the boy seemed terribly sad as he spoke those cryptic words. Either that, or it was simple exhaustion, judging by the way he sagged against his sword.

"Let's go," she managed at last, assured that the bandit men would be all right. They'd probably wake up with pounding headaches and sore ribs at the most. "We've got to go. There may be more of them."

Battousai hesitated. "Can you make it alone?" His voice was odd, his speech slightly slurred.

She frowned at him, fear creeping in and breaking through her stunned numbness at last. The hitokiri was very still, eyes closed, head resting against the hilt of the sword. It had never occurred to her that he may have been injured in the exchange.

"Did they get you?"

He shook his head.

She was caught off guard by the relief she felt upon learning he was unharmed. But it was obvious the boy had reached the limits of his strength at last. And the longer they stayed out here, the more dangerous it would be. For both of them.

She had to get out of here. The feeling of vulnerability and exposure was maddening. The rustle of the leaves and the chirping of insects sounded menacing this night. And it took all of Fumiko's control not to run off in a blind panic, screaming like a madwoman and releasing all the built-up tension that churned under her carefully maintained calm.

She moved toward Battousai and carefully hooked an arm under his sling around his waist. He winced, but allowed her touch as she helped him to slowly stand. She took the sword from him and waited for him to regain his equilibrium. She resisted the temptation to pull at him more forcefully, to make him to hurry. To leave him behind.

"Come, it's not far," she encouraged, as she and the hitokiri stumbled wearily down the road.

∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼

"You're going to wear a trench in my floor if you keep pacing like that," said a very irritable and sullen Hideo.

"Where are they?" asked Noriya as he made a conscious effort to keep still.

Hideo shrugged as he pulled the covers over a fitfully sleeping Etsuo. "I'm sure they're fine. She's with Hitokiri Battousai, Noriya. Heh. Probably the safest place to be in all of Japan."

"Assuming he found her," Noriya pointed out.

"I'm sure he found her, Noriya. Damn, but you think too much."

"I should go look for them."

Hideo was on his feet in an instant. "You sure as hell should not. I've known you a long time, old man. But I've never known you to be stupid."

Noriya sighed in frustration. "You're right, of course, but I'm going crazy here."

"Heh, I noticed," said Hideo through clenched teeth as he checked the pot of boiling water over the fire. "Now shut up and sit down. Have some tea. It'll do you good."

Sato Noriya did not want any tea. Didn't have time for tea. Tea was the furthest thing from his mind. But his hands curled reflexively around the cup Hideo shoved at him, and he sat down as he was told when Hideo grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him down forcefully onto the mat.

"They'll be here," said Hideo, giving Noriya's arm an encouraging pat. "And if they don't come here, they'll go somewhere else that's safe. The kid survived years on the front lines. You think a few brigands are going to do him in?"

"Himura's not fully recovered."

Hideo sniffed. "He doesn't need to be. Long as he's strong enough to wave a sword around a bit, I'm sure he and Fumiko-chan will both be fine."

"Wish I could be as confident as you."

"Huh, you're always telling me to trust the boy. Trust Battousai, he's a good lad. So put your money where your mouth is, old man, and trust the damned kid. Sure, he's a puny sort, but he's strong enough for a bunch of lousy bandits." Hideo scowled. Then peered sideways at Noriya and gave an evil little grin. "Bet he's got 'em shitting their hakama in fear right about now."

Noriya smiled. Trust Hideo to put things in perspective.

"_Watch out!_"

A sudden cry from the bed as Etsuo-kun came awake with a start and bolted upright. Then promptly groaned as he hunched over, his arms curling protectively around his head.

"Kami-sama," breathed Hideo. "Etsuo, boy, calm the hell down. You trying to give me chest pain?"

Noriya sighed, wishing Hideo would show a little tact at least once in a while.

"Etsuo-kun." Noriya set down his cup and went over to the bed where Etsuo was blinking blearily, trying to orient himself. Noriya settled himself down with a creak of stiff joints and sat on the edge of the bed. He was getting to be an expert at looking after injured youngsters, he thought to himself with some grim amusement. "It's all right, lad. We're at Hideo-san's place."

Etsuo sat hunched amid crumpled sheets and squinted up at him. Noriya did not envy the boy. Etsuo was surely in the throes of the worst headache of his life. And the kid looked like hell, messier than Noriya had ever seen him. Etsuo was normally such a fastidious lad.

"Sato-san?" The boy's voice quivered a bit, but he seemed alert for the most part.

"None other." Noriya smiled. "You're all right. You're safe. Gonna ask you an odd question, lad, but would you mind telling me your name?"

Etsuo blinked. "Etsuo," he said, even more confused.

Noriya laughed. "Sorry, Etsuo-kun. I just had to be sure. You took a good hit to the head. I was afraid you wouldn't be thinking straight because of it."

Etsuo gingerly poked at the lump on his head and winced, his face a shade paler as a result of it.

"I ought to thank you," Noriya added, more seriously. "You saved my life tonight, Etsuo-kun. I won't ever forget that."

"I did?" Etsuo frowned a moment, then widened his eyes, as memory returned. "Shit, Sato-san! I need to report to council," he declared urgently as he flung back the covers and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. "Kami-sama, I've got to get reinforcements!"

Noriya put out a steadying hand as Etsuo stood up and swayed on his feet, practically falling over. He grabbed the boy's shoulder as Etsuo tried to walk past. "Etsuo, you need to rest."

"Sato-san, my friends are out there," said the boy, staggering a bit as he shouldered past Noriya and headed for his swords which were on a rack near the door. "Akira's out there. Granted, he's been a bastard these last few days, and I'd like to kill him myself, but… I can't leave him and the others out there alone with those bandits crawling all over the place!"

"Etsuo, baka. Listen to Noriya-san, boy. Don't be a fool," said Hideo sternly.

"There's no time to lose," said Etsuo, as he fumbled with his swords.

"Etsuo!"

Etsuo winced at the sharp tone in Noriya's voice and shut his eyes, his hand automatically going to his head again.

"Etsuo, you can't go out there," said Noriya as he stood up an approached the lad. "You won't be of any help the way you are now. You can't even walk a straight line, boy."

Etsuo put a hand to the hilt of his katana, and Noriya stopped where he was, frowning in surprise at the boy's crazed determination.

"You're right, Sato-san. I wouldn't be much in a fight right now. Everything's…pulsing and spinning," said the young man, clearly distressed. "But I can't leave them out there, Noriya-san, I've got to get help at least. Go into town, alert them and ask for back-up."

"Back-up? What back-up?" asked Hideo. "If the town had other soldiers, they wouldn't have sent a bunch of kids like you out there in the first place."

Etsuo swallowed, clearly offended, but too polite to say so to his host and his elder. He tucked his swords into his hakama and straightened his gi.

"Morimoto-san, I appreciate your concern, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything ever happened to my friends, and I did nothing to stop it. How could I call myself a man if I cowered here nursing a headache when they're out there, possibly getting hurt? Or killed even? If it were Sato-san out there, wouldn't you go for help? I know you would."

Hideo looked at the boy, shrewd eyes narrowed. But didn't say anything.

"You're not going out there, Etsuo," said Noriya slowly. "Not without me."

He tried to ignore the near-worshipful look of relief on Etsuo's face.

"Arigato, Sato-san," said the young man quietly.

"Damn, Noriya. I thought we went over this already. You're not going out there!" Hideo was furious.

"No, I agreed to trust Battousai, Hideo. But Battousai's with Fumiko, not these boys. This is different."

"You fucking idiot."

Noriya merely shrugged. "Besides, we're not looking for a fight. We're just headed for town, right Etsuo? We're going in the opposite direction of the bandits. We should be fine."

Noriya grabbed the sword he'd picked up earlier in the night and took a deep breath, preparing his old bones for yet another exhausting exertion.

"Idiots," murmured Hideo as he pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his haori. "Your spare brushes are by the window. Write Fumiko-chan a note so she doesn't worry when she finds this place empty."

"You don't have to come," said Noriya softly, his heart warming at Hideo's decision to join them.

Hideo's eyes narrowed in annoyance. The greengrocer swiped Noriya's sword out of his hands and tucked it into his own hakama. "Someone's gotta watch over you. You can't fight for shit, Noriya, and you know it. Now write the damned note, and let's be going."

Hideo crossed his arms, fuming, never taking his eyes off Noriya.

"Wipe that damned smile off your face, Etsuo-kun," said the greengrocer without turning around. "And don't even think of foolish heroics. We're sneaking into town as fast as we can, and that's all we're doing. No damned adventures."

Etsuo-kun started guiltily behind him, and lowered his head, looking serious and properly chastised.

Hideo was right. What they were doing was foolish. Two old men and a wounded boy, none of them fighters. They should stay at home where it was safe.

But his heart felt light, and he knew he was doing the right thing. The town had to be warned, and it felt good to be taking action. He wrote a quick note assuring Fumiko-chan that they were well, and did not give any other unnecessary details.

"I thought you were in a hurry," said Hideo.

"Hai, hai." Noriya set down the brush and grinned at his friend. "I'm glad you're coming with us."

"Hunh," said Hideo as he turned around without a word and stormed out into the darkness.

∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼

He couldn't understand why she was helping him. She hated him. She'd made that quite clear in all their previous encounters. Yet here she was, supporting him, careful of his broken ribs, careful of his arm. Her movements were as gentle as they could be as she helped him across the final few hundred yards toward Noriya-san's home.

The trip down the cliff-side path had been particularly hellish, the narrow windings in the steep trail wreaking havoc on his already numbed sense of balance. It would not have taken much for him to fall off. He wondered that Fumiko didn't try to push him. She had wanted to kill him with her sword only an hour or two ago, after all.

"We're almost there," she was saying to him, her breaths now as short as his own as she too fought exhaustion. She had both arms around him now, having discarded the sword when they started down the cliff by Noriya's stretch of beach.

He felt badly for using her so, for tiring her out. He'd told her more than a few times on the way here to leave him, but she wouldn't listen. She was as stubborn as Noriya-san, and equally as incomprehensible. Kenshin could not understand why these people bothered. Why they continually went out of their way to show kindness for someone they should by all means have hated.

He was too tired to think about that now, however. It was a struggle simply to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving. His bad shoulder ached with every movement, the sling failing to provide enough support for bones and tissue that had only just begun to mend. The fighting had cost him dearly tonight, even though he'd fought left-handed. He'd over-exerted himself, and he didn't want to think about how sore he'd be in the morning.

They were inside, finally. He was dimly aware of that much. Fumiko-san left him a moment to start a fire and warm the place up. He'd slid down to the floor in a boneless lump somewhere along the way, his back against the wall, head hanging forward, glad to be resting at last.

He felt arms around him again, and tried to stand under his own power to spare Fumiko-san the effort. A few more steps to the comfort of his futon. He remembered, suddenly, as she helped him to lie down, that the futon had once belonged to Fumiko's husband.

The thought galled him, and he tried to apologize. But he couldn't seem to muster the coordination to do so, and he couldn't seem to protest at all when he felt gentle hands adjusting the makura under his neck, then slipping off his tatami sandals and tabi, and finally pulling the covers over him.

He wanted to thank her, to apologize to her, to say a number of things. But his eyes wouldn't open, and his voice eluded him, and soon, darkness enfolded him. The last thing Kenshin felt was the pressure of Fumiko's small hand on his good shoulder as he finally drifted off to sleep.

_"There now, it's all right," said a soft, feminine voice as gentle fingers brushed through his hair and rested lightly on his shoulder. "It's all right, little one, you can come on out now."_

_Shinta looked up, clutching his top for comfort as he warily regarded the newcomer's voice. It was a woman, a petite young woman with soft brown eyes and a kind voice. She was obviously an adult, but she was small enough, apparently to follow him under the wagon cart where no one else could fit. She was small like okaa-san was. Shinta bit his lip at the memory of his okaa-san._

_"You have such pretty hair." The young woman smiled at him as she sat hunched down next to him. She had to keep her head bent at a funny angle, but for some reason, she looked graceful doing it. Not silly at all. "My name is Akane. What is yours?"_

_Her voice was sweet, and her smile was real, he could tell. He'd always been good at reading people's intentions. It was why he'd long ago taken a liking to old Jiro-san (whom everyone else thought was a grouch), and why staying at Uncle's strange home had bothered him from the moment he'd walked through the door. Uncle's intentions had been hard to read. They were complex in a way Shinta had never encountered before. He wasn't like okaa-san or otou-san. He wasn't gentle. And he wasn't like Jiro-san who was grouchy on the outside, but nice on the inside._

_Uncle had had so many layers, Shinta couldn't tell what was real. He was like an onion, was the way Shinta thought of him. Shinta peeled and peeled away at him, trying to figure him out, but Uncle was too fancy. Too grown-up and complicated for Shinta to comprehend. _

_And Uncle's words never seemed to match any of what he was feeling. Shinta remembered the day Jiro-san had offered to adopt him, to take him back home to be raised on Jiro-san's farm. Shinta had wanted to go with the old man badly. He felt comfortable around Jiro-san, and he was sure Jiro-san would let him work near the cows. He really was fascinated by Jiro-san's cows despite laughing at all of Second Brothers jokes about eating them. But Uncle had refused Jiro-san's offer even though Jiro-san argued and argued with him. They even started shouting, much to Shinta's distress. Jiro-san had looked about to cry, but Uncle was adamant. Uncle said that Shinta was family and that he wouldn't hand over his family to just anyone. Shinta was his sister's child, after all. Uncle had to watch over him. _

_Shinta had believed him then, despite an odd feeling that something wasn't right. And now that he thought back on it, he realized that Jiro-san had also felt wrong about the situation. Uncle had been hiding something, but neither Jiro-san nor Shinta had guessed what it could be._

_Now he knew, of course. Shinta was just a child, but okaa-san had always said he was a bright boy. And it didn't take much to figure out that Uncle had only wanted money in exchange. Jiro-san had offered to take Shinta, but Jiro-san had never thought to offer money for doing so. The slave traders had. So Shinta had foolishly trusted Uncle and climbed up onto the saddle with Uncle and allowed Uncle to take him into town. How foolish he'd been. It had come as a complete surprise when Uncle handed him over to the strange businessmen on the riverside dock. And only after Shinta was on the boat, and Uncle was riding back home without him, did he realize that he had just been sold._

_He shivered at the memory and clutched more tightly at his top. He had been so happy that he'd thought to take his top with him. He didn't know what he would have done if he had left okaa-san's precious gift at Uncle's house that day. Shinta swallowed, refusing to cry. He'd made a promise to okaa-san that he'd be brave. And after his shameful fit of crying the day okaa-san had left, he had sworn to himself that never again would he be such a weakling. A runt, as the boys in town had called him._

_"Oh my, Hyosuke-san really was frightful to you, wasn't he?" Akane-san frowned, her large eyes filled with worry._

_He'd almost forgotten Akane-san was there. She seemed different from the others. He wanted very badly to trust her, but in the last couple of months, he'd sensed such hostility and anger from everyone around him, it was almost impossible to believe that someone could really be nice in this horrid place. He stared at her, still refusing to speak. _

_He hadn't spoken a word to anyone in the two months since Uncle had sold him. Some of the traders in the company had become angry, saying that Shinta was obviously a dullard, not worth the price they'd paid. Others had said that it didn't matter if he spoke or not. Long as he did his share of the work. And who cared if he was a dullard. They'd bought him for the red hair and violet eyes, not his brains. Some rich house in the city was sure to take him as a novelty item._

_Shinta frowned. He didn't want to be a novelty item. And he didn't want to go to the city. But that was not something he could help. Their caravan was headed for Kyoto, and there was nothing he could do. He'd already tried running away once, but they'd simply chased him down. And he didn't want to remember what they'd done when they found him. _

_"Akane, hurry it up down there," came a gruff low voice from beyond. "Get the brat already. Let's go."_

_"Hai, Tatsuya-san," Akane's delicate eyebrows lifted in sympathy as she shook her head in apology for the man's rude words. She held out her hand again. "Despite all appearances, Tatsuya-san is one of the kind ones. Don't worry. He doesn't approve of what Hyosuke-san did to you. He hates Hyosuke-san, actually, and he threatened to beat Hyosuke-san just as hard as Hyosuke-san beat you if Hyosuke-san ever touches you again. They may be partners, but they're not alike."_

_Shinta wanted to believe her. He shivered. It was chilly enough without the new holes in the back of his gi. He really didn't want to spend any more time outside. _

_"It's true," Akane-san continued, shifting a bit to find a more comfortable position in the cramped space. "You belong to Tatsuya-san as much as you do to Hyosuke-san. Hyosuke-san had no right to damage the company's property. It was wrong of him to hurt you."_

_"Akane." The voice sounded angry and impatient._

_"Hai, Tatsuya-san, we'll be out soon," she said. Akane-san ran her fingers lightly down Shinta's gi and made little sounds of disapproval at the fresh welts on his back. "I hear that Hyosuke-san really didn't even have a good excuse for what he did. That you did nothing wrong, and he was just being a drunken boor like he usually is. Am I right?"_

_Before he'd even realized it, Shinta found himself nodding._

_"Well. From now on, you travel with my sisters and me. Tatsuya-san said you could. You stay with us in our room from now on, and Hyosuke-san and the other men won't be allowed near you. You'd like that wouldn't you? To stay with my sisters and me? Kasumi-chan and Sakura-chan would love to meet you. We'd love to have your company, little one." _

_Akane-san looked uncomfortable hunched over for so long. Shinta felt badly about making her suffer the cold out here with him. And when he looked down and saw her knees, he felt even worse. "There's mud on your kimono, Akane-san."_

_Akane-san's eyes widened, as if she hadn't expected him to speak. She smiled, then laughed softly. "Not to worry, little one. I can wash it." She wiped a stray strand of hair from her face. "What is your name? I can't very well keep calling you 'little one' now, can I?"_

_"Shinta," he whispered, shy of his own voice after so many weeks of silence._

_"Shinta-chan," she repeated. "A fine name. A sweet name. Come along then, Shinta-chan. We'll put some salve on your back and mend the holes in your gi. How does that sound? And we'll have hot soup and fish for dinner. Sakura-chan made it. She's the best cook out of all three of us. Does that not sound pleasant?"_

_He nodded. It did sound nice. He tucked his top back into the folds of his gi, and crawled toward the young woman. Soft arms folded about him as she led him out from under the wagon._

_Shinta looked up warily into the stony face of Tatsuya-san, one of the traders in their company. He was frowning at them both, but he didn't make any move to strike them._

_"Fix the kid up, Akane. Get some food into him. We've got a long way to travel tomorrow, and I won't have him wasting precious space on the wagon. He walks next to you in line. It's a long road. Make sure he doesn't fall behind."_

_"Hai, Tatsuya-san," said Akane, bowing low, averting her eyes. Tatsuya-san turned on his heel and walked back toward the men's rooms at the inn. Akane-san watched him leave, an unreadable expression on her face, and then gently led Shinta toward the warehouse where the goods were stored and the slave women lived._

_They held hands as they walked. _

_"We're going to be good friends, Shinta-chan," said the young woman, her voice merry once again. "We'll take care of each other, neh?"_

_"Hai," whispered Shinta, so softly, Akane-san couldn't possibly hear. But all the same, it was a promise of the heart, one he fully intended to keep._

To be continued.

* * *

**Japanese Terms: **Ishin Shishi: Imperialists, the side for which Kenshin fought during the war  
Iya: no  
Makura: pillow  
Okaa-san: mother  
Otou-san: father  
Tatami: a type of sandals  
Tabi: a sock with a separate compartment for the big toe, to be worn with tatami sandals

**  
Author's Note: **

Man, it's been a while since I worked on this fic. Not for lack of interest, mind you, but real life just kept getting in the way! Sorry to keep you all waiting! But I'm back to work, and the whole story's been plotted out. Just a matter of actually writing down the events now. Hopefully I'll have updates fairly regularly, although I can never be sure, especially since I may be volunteering on various school projects or working the rest of the summer. But I'll do my best.

Thanks to everyone who wished me well on my exam. I'm glad it's done with. And thanks to everyone who critiqued this fic and offered insight as well as support. And thanks to those who politely asked me to get moving. Heehee. I need people to kick me in the butt every once in a while to get me back on track.

As always, warmest appreciation to the reviewers: ChiisaiLammy, hanabi musume, Redwood1, NekoKatakura, Maeve Riannon, Linay, MP1, Hakaita, mvdiva, missaw, Oniryu, Wolfgirl13, Lily of the Shadow, Poppy2, kenshinadmirer, Wistful-Eyes, Mirune Keishiko, BakaBokken, Calger459, Night-Owl123, Rarity88, Henrika, Tiger of the Sonicboom, AnkaraStark, tina, mad melma, Deman, Mysti-chan, Wingstar-chan, AmunRa, pu-chan, Shaolin 10, Author-chan, Kasifya, holly, shinobigyrl7, Mockingbird917, Arldetta, FireSenshi2, Ms. Zeal, incybincer, Corran Nackatori, Bloody Akiko Nagi the Insane, tati1, KoChanneo, Toilet Marauder, Shadowsage Hopesong, Meji no Pan, misaoshiru, xZig-zagx, Windswift, SkyDancerHawk, Anna from Russia, ESP, hitokiri-oroness, Uzumaki901, and wyrd. (Whew! I hope I got everyone.)

One last announcement. I'm holding a Rurouni Kenshin fan art contest at my site! The deadline is July 31, 2004. All are welcome to enter. And the prizes are real. RK DVD's, manga volumes, RK soundtrack CD's, etc. Check it out. I know many of you writers out there are artists as well. The link to my site is in my profile. Hope to see you there.

--HB


	9. Ch 9 ::: Captive

**Disclaimer:** This fan fiction is based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuke, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and VIZ Comics. This is a non-profit work for entertainment purposes only. Permission was not obtained from the above parties.

**WARNING: ** This chapter contains strong language and extreme violence.

* * *

**  
Against a Sea of Troubles: Chapter 9 – Captive**  
by Haku Baikou  
20.Aug.2004

* * *

It was dawn by the time Noriya and company made it back into town. What was normally a relatively easy walk had become a journey of seemingly epic proportions. Etsuo was barely conscious and seemed to be moving on instinct alone. Noriya's joints ached more with each step. Of the three, only Hideo had been untouched by the events of the night, and only by his constant urgings and tauntings were they able to stumble into town. For once, Noriya grudgingly had to appreciate Hideo's sharp tongue. The resulting anger and irritation at his old friend was of great help in lending him the strength to keep walking.

Noriya and Etsuo had promised Hideo there would be no "damned adventures" as the greengrocer had put it, that they would head straight for town.

They'd lied.

The three of them had searched for hours, traveling through the forest and thick underbrush with as much stealth as they could manage, looking for signs of Akira and the others. But they had found nothing. No sign of either the boys or the bandits anywhere. And with the lack of danger, the surge of energy that had driven them on their initial search, waned.

Etsuo's enthusiasm drained slowly out of him, and the toll that the night's battles had taken on him physically began to show. The boy was barely able to stand. Noriya had asked him at one point how his head was, and the young man's uncharacteristic reply had been to growl that if it hurt any more, he'd vomit. It wasn't exactly encouraging.

But they were back in town now, and the sun was rising. And with the coming daylight, Noriya felt a return of his energy. Strange, how merely seeing the sun could do so much to restore a man.

"Council should just be starting their daily session," he murmured to no one in particular.

A gruff "hai" from Hideo, who had never much cared for the council.

They approached the building, and sure enough, the town's senior members were trickling in.

Old Takaharu stood on the engawa, leaning heavily on his walking stick, wisps of his long white hair floating gently in the breeze. The senior-most councilman noticed the three of them as they neared, his drooping eyes widening slightly at the site of them.

"Noriya, my boy," the eldest of the village council greeted him in a familiar soft wheeze. "What the hell happened to you?"

Noriya was sixty-seven. Had hair that was completely grey. And still, the Ancient One took a perverse pleasure in calling him "my boy" every morning. On any other day, Noriya would have delighted in making a great show of indignation and affront. Would have engaged the eldest of the elders in some rebelliously witty banter that both of them so enjoyed.

But not this morning.

"Have Akira and the boys reported in yet, Takaharu-san?" Noriya asked.

"No, not yet. Why? Has something happened?" Takaharu frowned, peering at Noriya more carefully and squinting slightly. His expression hardened as he finally seemed to realize the three of them were bloodied and injured. "Come inside, you fools! Sit down. The young one's about to fall over."

Noriya hooked an arm about Etsuo—who mumbled reassurances that he was fine—and led the boy inside as Takaharu called for someone to bring them some water.

"We were attacked by the bandits last night, Takaharu-san. No sneaking around this time, they actually attacked," Noriya explained as they settled down on the mats. "Etsuo here helped me fight them off. We were afraid the other boys might have run into more of them. They were all over the roads last night. And some of them were rather skilled warriors."

He kept his story simple. He left Fumiko out of his account, afraid to mention her for fear it would lead to further questions from the old councilor. Why wasn't Fumiko with them? Where had she gone? The questions would potentially lead to Himura-san, and Noriya, exhausted as he was, didn't quite trust himself to be able to keep his secrets at the moment.

"So they're growing more bold," said Takaharu quietly. "Are you well enough to give a report before the council?"

"Hai," said Noriya. "I—"

He was interrupted by a commotion outside.

Noriya followed old Takaharu to the doorway and out onto the engawa. A small crowd was gathering. And improbably, amazingly, in the middle of that crowd, stood Akira and the other boys, heads high, smiling proudly.

They were escorting a prisoner toward the council house.

"Takaharu-san! Takaharu-san," one of the council messengers came running excitedly and stating the obvious: "Young Akira and the boys have caught one of the bandits!"

The old councilman arched a bushy white eyebrow and looked as if he would say something. But he merely pursed his lips instead.

Noriya frowned as he watched Akira and the boys poke and prod the man in the back, forcing him to stagger toward the council house. The man's chin was a mess with ample bloodstains down his neck and chest. His arms were bound tightly behind him by several loops of rope. He moved stiffly, holding his head carefully like one with a sprained neck.

But for all his stiffness and apparent exhaustion, the prisoner moved like a warrior still. Had the discipline to ignore the taunts from villagers who had gathered on the street. Had the smooth, predatory grace of a trained swordsman that Noriya could recognize and appreciate, even if he didn't possess such martial skills himself.

"Have you ever seen those boys fight?" said Takaharu beside him.

"Hai," he answered softly. Noriya found it difficult to believe that Akira and his friends could have brought this man to his current miserable condition. He rather suspected someone else—someone with red hair and amber eyes, perhaps—had somehow been responsible.

"Those kids barely know which end of the sword to hold onto and which end to point at the opponent," Takaharu was muttering. "Ito insists we can make them into warriors eventually."

"Ito's only had a few sessions with them, so Etsuo-kun tells me."

"Aa," Takaharu affirmed. "But young Akira has it in his head that he's now a bona-fide swordsman. After only a handful of lessons." The old man shook his head. "His family has always been a proud one."

Akira approached the two of them and bowed deeply. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes impatiently as he waited for Takaharu to acknowledge him with a nod. And once the old man did so:

"Takaharu-san, Sato-san," he addressed them with barely contained excitement. "My friends and I have caught one of the bandits. They ambushed us last night on the road, you see. I have no idea why they would openly attack a group of armed men, especially when they've been so careful to hide in the past. I'm afraid most of them got away. But we did manage to catch this one."

If the boy was expecting Takaharu to shower him to praise, he hid his disappointment relatively well. Takaharu stared at the prisoner, sniffed, scratched his chin, and said nothing for a moment.

Akira and his friends looked at each other, hesitant to speak further.

"Bring him in then," the old leader said finally as he turned to go inside. As everyone began to follow, the old man paused before he reached the doorway. His beady eyes narrowed slightly. "Where is young Etsuo-kun, by the way? Is he not part of your team, Akira-kun?"

"Etsuo?" Akira blinked. "We… we got separated."

Takaharu didn't say anything, didn't reveal that Etsuo was sitting inside just beyond the doorway. "You must be exhausted then. A busy night. Capturing a criminal as well as searching for your friend."

Akira had a distinctly guilty look about his face. "Aa," he stammered. "Yes, it's been a long night. We went back to the place we were at before we split up. By the large oak. We checked several times in fact. But we never did find him. Why, has he not come back?"

Noriya stopped moving and stared at the boy, shocked by the audacity of that lie. He knew for a fact that Akira had never looked for Etsuo, since Noriya himself had waited with Etsuo at that very spot by the oak tree for an hour. And there had never been any sign of Akira or the other boys.

Rare anger welled within him, and Noriya frowned as the boy went past him into the council room. Young Etsuo had been nearly frantic with worry over this arrogant little bastard. Had wandered the woods at night while suffering from a bad concussion. And Akira in turn, had been so taken with this prisoner of his that he hadn't thought to look for Etsuo at all.

Noriya stalked into the room after everyone else and saw Etsuo and Akira staring at each other in shock. Akira, surprised that his friend was back in one piece. Etsuo, unable to believe that his friend had caught a prisoner when he himself had been so thoroughly beaten by the bandits.

Noriya sat wordlessly down between Etsuo and Hideo, still fuming. The greengrocer arched an eyebrow in surprise at his rare display of temper.

"What's eating at you?"

"Nothing." Noriya took a deep breath. "At least now we know that Akira-kun and the other boys are safe."

"Hai," agreed Etsuo faintly, sounding a bit dazed. "I'm really glad they're safe, Sato-san. But… but I can't believe they caught a prisoner. I mean, no offense, but Akira's worse than me with a sword. And I'm pretty damned bad."

"You were good enough to save my life last night," said Noriya quietly.

"That was pure luck, Sato-san, and you know it," responded the boy, still frowning as he watched Akira and the others waiting with the prisoner in a corner near the front.

"There'll be other chances, Etsuo-kun," Noriya said gently. "Bravery has many forms."

"Hai," agreed the boy, disbelief and doubt etched plainly on his face.

Noriya sighed, rubbed his eyes tiredly, and straightened his back, stretching a bit to relieve a plethora of annoying little aches and pains that plagued his age-worn and over-used body. He grimaced and wished for the hundredth time that he hadn't been quite so enthusiastic in his actions earlier in the night. After all his years, he still tended to get carried away by excitement. Tended to forget that his old bones didn't quite share the youthful vigor of his mind and couldn't quite take the abuse of over-exertion anymore. It was a damned shame, he thought, that he often still felt like a young man on the inside. That he tended to forget, at times, that he was now a town elder.

He could understand that wistful look on Etsuo-kun's face. Noriya generally preferred a sedate, safe life. But even he longed for heroics every once in a while. It was a natural enough wish for any man.

Hideo was also watching Akira and his friends. But Hideo's wry expression was quite different from Etsuo-kun's.

"Three guesses as to who really gave that prisoner the clip on the chin," the greengrocer smirked softly.

"You think it was him too," said Noriya quietly, careful not to mention the person's name.

"As if these boys could bring this guy down. Feh. My ass." Hideo snorted as he watched the proceedings with amusement.

Takaharu had settled himself at the low table at the front of the room, and the other councilors waited quietly as Akira and another boy dragged the prisoner to a spot at the side of the front of the room. The man fell to his knees when they let go of him, unruly black hair obscuring his face as he knelt, facing diagonally outward from the corner of the room. He lifted his head slowly, taking in his surroundings as he eyed both the council leaders to his right and the rest of the members to his left. The room tensed collectively, for the man's face, though exhausted, still burned with an angry defiance rarely seen in their quiet little town.

"Would you like some water before we begin?" Takaharu asked the stranger.

Silence.

"What is your name, young man?"

More silence.

"You may speak freely here," Takaharu pressed with a feral smile. "We do not punish those whom we have not found guilty…yet."

Finally, a short, humorless laugh from the bandit at that statement. "Sakamoto," he said in a low voice. "Sakamoto Kinya."

"Aa," said Takaharu almost amiably. "Well, Sakamoto-san, the boys who brought you in say that your friends attacked them on the road last night."

Sakamoto shrugged.

"You and your friends have been stealing from our village for quite some time now."

The bandit remained silent.

Takaharu's voice hardened. "You killed two of our village men in that time. Have you nothing to say to that? You steal from us. You murder harmless old fishermen—"

"We did no such thing," the bandit hissed as an audibly angry murmur passed through the room at his lack of respect.

"Would you care to explain?" Takaharu's voice had lost its warm, breezy tones and was now laced with silken venom. Noriya smiled to himself. This was the true, intimidating Takaharu he remembered from his youth, the man whom all the boys in town steered clear of whenever possible.

The prisoner was not at all affected by the change in tone.

"Why should I? What difference will it make? You've already found me guilty, so there's really no point is there."

"For your conscience sake."

"Conscience?" The man seemed amused. He shook his head. "That's gone. I lost that long ago."

"For the sake of truth then," said Takaharu softly.

Sakamoto's eyes narrowed as he stared at the old man. No doubt, he was trying to gauge the village elder, trying to see where his questions were headed, Noriya thought with almost a pang of sympathy. Sakamoto wasn't the first to try to guess at where the old councilman was leading.

"And what have I to gain from revealing this truth?"

"You're in no position to ask questions, Sakamoto-san," the old man said mildly. "Your job is to provide answers."

Sakamoto shrugged after a moment, as if humoring the old man was harmless enough. "The first one died of fright not two seconds after he ran into us. We stepped out from the woods, he saw us, and keeled over dead right then and there. Weak heart, I suppose. I would hardly call that a murder. We didn't even have a chance to threaten him properly."

Noriya frowned. It was conceivably true. They did find old Ushio-san dead in the road with no marks on him. His wagon had been ransacked and robbed, but the man himself had had no obvious injuries. He was simply dead. No evidence as to how it had happened.

"And the other?" Takaharu asked.

"The other was an accident," the man said quietly. "We told him to back away from his wagon. The stubborn fool refused. He charged towards Ka—a friend of mine, brandishing a fucking farming scythe. So my friend drew his sword. He pulled back on his attack, but not enough, apparently. It wasn't his fault that your farmer couldn't fight for shit. My friend over-estimated his opponent and killed him. It wasn't his intention."

"Who cares what his intentions were? Gouta's still dead!" came an angry cry from someone sitting in the back of the room. "My brother's dead because of you and your friends. You murderous pack of wolves! You fucking animals!"

"We're soldiers," answered Sakamoto, his eyes narrowing. "We survived because we killed. You try to hold back when every fiber of your being screams at you to take your opponent or be taken yourself. It's instinct. Not something we can easily turn off."

"Bullshit! Only an animal gives in to instinct!" shouted the villager, standing.

"Wataru-san," Takaharu warned the angry villager.

"You think so? You try it then," Sakamoto countered, ignoring everyone but the angry villager. "You try restraining the very instincts that kept you alive during the biggest fucking nightmare of your entire fucking life! Your brother was a fool to attack warriors, fresh from a goddamned war!"

"Temee!" The room erupted into chaos as the angry Wataru-san suddenly rushed forward towards the prisoner. The prisoner, likewise, got to his feet, lunging forward before being quickly restrained by Ito and some of the other men nearby.

It was a dizzying, lightning quick turn of events. One moment, the proceedings had been entirely civil. Now, angry shouts filled the room, each voice trying to drown the others out.

"Kami-sama," young Etsuo whispered, wincing at the loud noises which were most likely playing hell with his headache. "They've all lost their minds. No one's thinking. Everyone's just reacting."

"People don't think when they're angry, Etsuo," Hideo responded absently, fascinated by the heated scene.

Noriya stared at Sakamoto, the prisoner's words playing over and over in his mind. Did Himura feel such things, he wondered. Was it difficult for the boy to keep from killing last night? Was he happy to leave his opponents alive, or did he feel disturbed and vulnerable for doing so? Perhaps a bit of both? Noriya suddenly felt chilled, thinking such thoughts. Alien thoughts to him. He'd always been a peace loving man. But he'd always possessed an ability for putting himself in the shoes of other people, for understanding them when no one else could or would. That ability sometimes frightened him.

Sakamoto was kneeling again, Ito having tied the prisoner's feet as well now. The bound man was breathing heavily, but had apparently calmed down fairly quickly. He stared at the occupants of the room, his eyes cold, his face expressionless.

Noriya recognized that expression of cold determination. He had seen the same battle-ready look on Himura's face when the hitokiri fought. Only on Himura, it had been a hundred times more frightening.

Old Takaharu sighed and drummed his fingers lightly on the table, a center of calm in a room suddenly filled with tension.

"Kindly keep the excitement down. My poor old bones can't stand much of these outbursts," he said, his statement addressed as much to the angry village man, Wataru, as it was to Sakamoto.

Wataru-san looked down at the floor in obvious embarrassment and shame for having lost control of his emotions. "My apologies, Takaharu-san, everyone. I was out of line," he said as he kneeled back down, quiet and meek.

"Now then, Sakamoto-san," Takaharu continued as everyone finally settled down again. "What happened out on the road last night? Who gave you the wound on your chin?"

A stir from the corner of the room where Akira and his friends sat: "Takaharu-san, my friends and I—" Akira stopped at an annoyed wave of the council elder's hand.

The old councilman ignored the boy and peered intently at the prisoner once again. "I don't for a second believe that these boys—however good their intentions—could have brought you in like this. So once again. What happened? Who gave you that wound?"

Sakamoto clammed up again and stared at the floor sullenly.

"Another bandit? Your leader perhaps?" continued Takaharu. "Wolves? Tree spirits? Battousai? Who?"

Sakamoto tensed involuntarily at Battousai's name.

Takaharu had caught the prisoner off guard finally.

Noriya bit his lip nervously. Had Takaharu seen the reaction? The reaction had been subtle, obvious to Noriya only because he was attuned to it. But was it noticeable to anyone else in the room? Was it noticeable to those who had no reason to suspect Battousai was in town?

"Gods, did you see him flinch?" Hideo whispered softly on his left.

Noriya's heart sank. So, he hadn't been the only one who'd noticed. He studied the face of the prisoner. Sakamato had an expression of something akin to fear etched across his narrow face. Had the man been that terrified by his run-in with Himura? Was that why he failed to make any mention of the hitokiri's name all this time? Was he afraid Himura would hunt him down if he revealed anything?

Noriya frowned. If only Sakamoto knew what the hitokiri was like these days….

He found himself leaning forward, his back tense. This man surely fought with Himura last night. And here, now, he was about to reveal the truth. This was disaster. This was what Noriya had been fearing for the last week, and he sat now, helpless to do anything but watch as this prisoner gave Himura's presence away.

"I…" The prisoner licked a spot of crusted blood from dry lips. He took a deep breath then, and collected himself, a shade of his former defiance returning.

He shrugged. "I tripped and fell."

The other council members at the table reacted predictably with irritation at those disrespectfully flippant words. But Takaharu was watching the prisoner intently, a thoughtful frown etched on the old face.

The old councilman had seen it, thought Noriya despairingly. The prisoner's momentary lapse had not gone unnoticed.

"That's not true," Akira began to protest. "Takaharu-san, we—"

"Be quiet, Akira!" Takaharu's voice snapped like a whip crack, and Akira's face drained of all color.

The council room was very still. No one dared to make a noise.

"You do realize…" old Takaharu spoke into the silence, his voice almost gentle. "You do realize, Sakamoto-san, that your life depends on your answers."

The two men stared at each other as if the rest of the room didn't exist.

Finally, the bravado melted away from Sakamoto as he sighed and closed his eyes. "Of course I realize that."

"Then answer very carefully. With whom did you fight last night?"

Sakamoto smiled tiredly. "I told you. I tripped and fell."

"Where are your friends hiding? Where is your camp?"

"What friends? I'm just a poor wanderer, traveling alone." The words themselves were defiant still, but the strength was gone from Sakamoto's voice. He seemed drained. He spoke like a man who was resigned to die.

"And what of Battousai?" asked Takaharu softly, aiming for the weak point he'd found in the prisoner's defenses.

But Sakamoto didn't react this time and merely answered in a flat voice, "He disappeared after Toba Fushimi. Everyone knows that. And what in hell does that have to do with anything here?"

There were many bewildered faces in the council, Noriya noticed. Takaharu's line of questioning had a tendency to confuse people at the best of times, but his questions on Battousai were beyond their comprehension. The scribe sighed. At least others were not yet suspicious of Himura's presence. There was a chance, then, that the situation could be salvaged, especially if Sakamoto remained silent on the matter.

"Council is adjourned," Takaharu sighed. "I wish to speak to this prisoner in private. And will Ito-san and Sato-san please stay."

The council's puzzlement merely increased with this unusual request, but Takaharu's word had been law here for years, and no one thought to question it. And so everyone got up, stretched themselves, and slowly filed out of the room, heads shaking. Perplexed by the strange interrogation.

Noriya had no doubts that most would be heading for the tea house down the street to discuss the goings on in the session today.

Next to him, Hideo shook his head. "This is why I don't go to council meetings. Too damned strange. Too many damned hotheads around. And what the hell are we going to do about…" his voice dropped low. "…you know who."

"I don't know." Noriya rubbed at the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Look, get Etsuo-kun home first. Then find Fumiko, eh? I need to know she's all right. I'll take care of things here. See if I can get Takaharu-san off this track he's on."

Hideo nodded uncertainly.

"This Sakamoto fellow," Noriya continued, "He doesn't seem to want to mention…my guest's name for some reason. That may be of help."

"Maybe, but I doubt it," said Hideo.

Noriya sighed. "Could you please stay with Fumiko today, Hideo. I'll go home as soon as I can, but it might be a while before I can do that."

"Just be sure to head back before it gets dark," Hideo said dryly as he went over to Etsuo who sat with his eyes closed, apparently oblivious to what had happened in the entire latter part of the interrogation. The greengrocer dragged the boy to his feet and hooked a friendly arm about him, leading him out of the council room.

"Hideo," Noriya called out.

The greengrocer turned around, eyebrows raised questioningly.

Noriya walked over to him and whispered so only his friend could hear. "Don't mention any of this to Himura just yet."

Hideo nodded slowly. And after a moment: "What was it like, by the way," the greengrocer asked, his voice equally soft.

"Eh?"

"What was it like? Seeing him fight?"

Noriya searched for the proper word. What had he felt last night?

"Noriya!" Takaharu called out impatiently for Noriya from the front of the room.

"Feh. Tell me later then." Hideo sighed and led Etsuo out the door.

Noriya watched his friends leave and then approached the old councilor at the table. He sat next to Takaharu at the old man's invitation.

Takaharu had his arm bent, chin resting on his upturned palm. His walking stick lay across the surface, and he rolled it back and forth idly as he thought. Ito and his men had taken the prisoner to the jail, and Noriya and the old councilman were now alone in the room.

"Noriya, my boy… I'm rather alarmed at the moment."

"Alarmed?" asked Noriya.

"Don't tell me you didn't see that reaction. Of all people, I'd expect you to notice."

Noriya took a deep breath. "I saw it."

"I only mentioned Battousai's name on a whim since young Akira had been throwing around wild theories that the hitokiri's been hiding around about town. Kami-sama, I mentioned his name along with tree spirits after all. But the way Sakamoto jumped…. Hell." Takaharu scratched his chin. "This interrogation seemed odd from the moment we began. No, from the moment Akira and the boys brought him in. Nothing fits. And now this… Battousai…. What the hell is going on?"

"You really think Battousai is here? In our town?" Noriya asked, putting as much disbelief into his voice as he could.

"Logically?" Takaharu snorted. "No, of course not. What would he be doing here, of all places? And with a troupe of half-starved bandits attacking hapless farmers and fishermen? Heh. Hardly worth the trouble for a legendary monster."

Noriya said nothing. He didn't trust himself not to give something away. Takaharu, despite his years and his penchant for pretending to be demented, was as sharp as a needle still.

The old councilman was slowly pulling himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the walking stick. "Well, come along, Noriya. Come along and let's you and I have a real chat with this prisoner, shall we? I told Ito to get your writing tools from the office. He should have obtained them by now."

"Hai," said Noriya, and followed the village elder out into the street.

He dreaded the impending interview. But there was nothing to do but obey.

* * *

_ Shinta shivered slightly as he sat upon the window sill, but he didn't mind the cold. The cold kept him from falling asleep. And he dared not sleep. The visions would come then. Visions that were difficult enough to keep from his mind when he was fully awake. And now, now when he was so very tired, they crept in at the edges of his awareness, threatening to overwhelm him and take him back to the horrors of the moonlit field two nights ago. _

_A flash of moonlight against a pointed spear, fresh blood glistening on the flat of the blade, rivulets dripping down the arm of its wielder._

_Shinta gasped as the image took him. _

_He shut his eyes instinctively, but that only made things worse. _

_Screams all around him as shadowed forms erupted from the tall grass, surrounding their caravan. Shouts from the men at the front and rear of the line, weapons being drawn. _

_Tatsuya-san running past them toward the front of the line, shouting for everyone to get in as close to the wagons as possible. And then he was saying angrily to one of the other slavers nearby: "Hyosuke's gone too far! He's fucking mad, sending mercenaries after us just because his damn pride was wounded…." And Shinta lost the words after that._

_Akane-san's hands clutched at his shoulders painfully as she pulled him towards herself and dragged him toward the nearest wagon. She turned her head at every sound, her eyes wide with fear, shifting from one direction to another. Shinta realized with a start that she couldn't see very well. It was too dark for her. She couldn't see the shadowy forms that approached. And from the look of things, neither could most of the others._

_But he could see. Could see and hear with horrifying clarity everything that was happening as fighting broke out at the two ends of the line. Men drew swords and hacked away at each other, sprays of blood backlit by the moon. The slavers' guards were dying in a most gruesome manner. And the invaders were moving up in the line, past the fighters, into the ranks of the defenseless slave women. They did not spare the women. _

_Akane-san gasped at the first sounds of the slaves dying. "Kami-sama, what are they doing?"_

_Shinta couldn't breathe. Felt as if his heart would burst in his chest. They were killing everyone. Everyone. And they were headed this way._

_A fire had started in one of the rear wagons, setting an eerie glow about the entire area. And now, even Akane-san could see the carnage, could see that the enemy were closing in._

_"Akane-san," he said, finding it difficult to speak. His mouth had gone dry. He tugged at Akane-san's sleeve. "They're coming!" he whispered urgently. _

_Tatsuya-san reappeared then, his sword drawn, blood staining his side. His voice was strained. "Akane! Take your sisters and go! Get out of here!"_

_"What?" she said. "Where?"_

_He shoved her roughly away from the wagon towards the high grass._

_"Anywhere! Dammit, Akane, we're losing this fight! Run! Run if you want to live!"_

_"Onee-chan," Sakura-san's voice from nearby. "Onee-chan, hurry!"_

_They turned to go just as an enemy warrior leaped towards them with a blood-curdling battle cry, his sword raised to strike. Akane screamed and reflexively threw herself over Shinta, trying to protect him._

_But the man's blow never came. Was deflected by Tatsuya-san's blade, Shinta saw, as Akane turned around in shocked confusion to see why they were still in one piece._

_"Run, dammit!" Tatsuya-san cried out. And there was a desperation to his voice that Shinta had never heard before. _

_Akane-san backed slowly away from the combatants. Shinta followed. _

_Tatsuya-san and the invader still had their blades locked. But Tatsuya-san was bleeding, and the invader was uninjured. The stranger pushed at the swords in a sudden burst of strength. Tatsuya-san fell to his knees, crying out and clutching at his bloody side. And in that moment of weakness, the enemy pulled forth a second blade and buried it deep in the slave trader's chest._

_"Tatsuya-san!" Akane cried out as she and Shinta froze, horrified. Watched helplessly as the invader brought his first blade up for another swing._

_Tatsuya stared at Akane-san, an oddly sad expression on his normally scowling face as he shook his head. His eyes were fixed on her and burned with an emotion Shinta couldn't identify. "Akane…" Tatsuya-san whispered._

_And then he was beheaded._

_"Tatsuya-san!" Akane screamed, tears welling in her eyes. _

_Shinta pulled frantically on Akane-san's sleeve and snapped her out of her daze. The invader was having trouble pulling his sword back out of the body. Now was their only chance._

_The two of them ran, following Akane-san's two sisters, several slave women, and a few other swordsmen ahead. Akane-san's breaths hitching from uncontrollable sobs as they fled. _

_Wet blades of grass lashed at Shinta's face as they sped through the field and onto another path. The women were tiring, their movements slowing and further hindered by their kimono. _

_Akane-san was breathing in gasps, tracks of tears still fresh on her face. He could hear the soft pants of effort from Sakura-san and Kasumi-san nearby. And mercilessly, unrelentingly, he could hear sounds of their pursuers behind, their footfalls quick and undeniably sure. _

_The invaders were easily gaining on them. _

_The slave women were soon cornered. _

_They panicked and scattered apart briefly, only to be cut down one by one. _

_Shinta looked about desperately. Saw a glint of metal on the ground, a sword from one of the fallen men of their caravan. _

_Shinta knew very well he would die tonight. _

_A part of him wanted nothing more than to give into the fear, to collapse, to cry and whimper, and hope that he could somehow hide in a spot where the invaders wouldn't find him. He was small enough, after all. No one would notice him. _

_But another part of him knew that such a desire was cowardly, and to hide in fear when three women who had been kind to him were about to be brutally cut down…. There really was no choice at all._

_He picked up the sword. His arms shook from the weight of it, but he managed to lift it off the ground. He faced the shadowed warriors who advanced upon him. Two of them, more than twice his height._

_Shinta willed himself to keep still. Forced himself to stay, to face the enemy like a man. He knew he wouldn't last long at all, but he had to make his stand. He'd promised his okaa-san he'd be a big boy. He'd promised Akane-san that he'd take care of her. And he'd promised himself that he would be strong. Wouldn't be a runt like the village boys had called him._

_He took a deep breath and readied himself to charge forward…_

_But the world slowed to a numbing blur as Akane-san and her sisters grabbed him from behind and pulled him away. The distant clang from his dropped sword echoed in his ears, sounding as if it was under water. Arms surrounded him. Silken black hair, a curtain before his eyes. But it didn't block out his view completely. Didn't block out the screams as Katsumi-san and Sakura-san were peeled away from their small huddling group like petals plucked from a flower. Brutally murdered before his eyes. _

_The world tilted crazily as Akane-san pushed him down to the ground. Shinta was too horrified to scream. Could only silently thank the gods that Akane-san had been facing the other way, that she didn't have to watch her sisters's deaths._

_He clutched at Akane-san's arms, holding on to her tightly. Akane-san was a nice lady. She didn't deserve this. Her sisters didn't deserve this. _

_And Shinta didn't deserve this. He'd tried so awfully hard to be good. _

_None of them deserved this! _

_Akane-san was speaking to him, her desperate words echoing and melding into one another. But the message was clear._

_"Please live, Shinta!" She cried as she was grabbed by her hair and roughly pulled away…._

_"Iya!" _

_Shinta gasped and opened his eyes. Breathing harsh. Heart pounding. Senses throbbing as he shut his eyes tightly his fists pressed against them in the futile hope of driving the images out._

_"Iya," he whispered, shaken, willing himself to calm down, to stop trembling._

_It was a memory. It was over. The bodies, the blood. They were all buried. Out of sight. He'd made sure of that himself. _

_The field was gone. He was in Seijurou-san's cottage now. A strange and unfamiliar place, but a safe one nonetheless. A warm place. And well defended by a man whose sword skills were…were beyond comprehension._

_Shinta opened his eyes and looked around. Seijurou-san was outside, he knew. He couldn't see him, but he knew the man was there by the brook, quietly drinking sake. _

_Shinta was safe here. He knew that. _

_Still. He would take no chances._

_He grabbed the small wooden sword Seijurou-san had presented to him earlier that night and hugged it close. He slipped off the ledge of the window and climbed onto his futon. But he didn't lie down. He couldn't. He simply couldn't lie down._

_So he sat instead, back against the wall, and drew his knees up into a relatively comfortable position. Kept the sword in hand and leaned it against his shoulder. Lowered his head then, resting quietly, but not quite falling asleep. He wasn't ready to fall asleep just yet. The nightmares would come, he knew, and he wasn't quite brave enough to face them. He'd managed to keep awake last night by working. By burying Akane-san and the others. But now… now fatigue set in, and he had no other means to stay awake. _

_The sound of the crickets, the water rushing in the brook, the leaves rustling in the breeze. They were too soothing…._

_He must have dozed off a bit, because he awoke to the feel of something soft and heavy being draped across his knees and shoulders. He opened sleepy eyes and saw a large, solid and oddly reassuring shadow looming above him. _

_"Sleep against the wall if you must, boy," Seijurou-san's low voice murmured as his large hands adjusted the blanket that now covered Shinta. "I don't care. But I won't go easy on you tomorrow if you catch a cold. Tomorrow, you begin your training."_

_He resisted the urge to call out to the man as Seijurou left him for his own futon across the room. Seijurou-san would not approve of such cowardice. _

_There was no need to be afraid, he tried to convince himself. What were a few bad dreams in comparison to all that had happened to him already? Fear and guilt could be conquered like any other enemy._

_He would not be afraid. Never again. _

_Tomorrow, he would start learning. Tomorrow, he would become stronger. Tomorrow, he truly would become a new person. _

_He closed his eyes, then, finally ready to sleep. _

_Tomorrow, Shinta the runt would be no more. _

_Tomorrow… Kenshin would awaken._

* * *

He became aware of warm sunlight on his face. The sounds and pleasant smells of a busy kitchen. A woman humming softly. A child's bubbly peals of amusement amid the lower, rougher laughter of someone familiar… Morimoto-san's voice.

He peeled his eyes slowly open, taking in his surroundings as he finally came fully awake. And blinked, startled, at the strange and unfamiliar scene before him.

It was so… happy.

Fumiko-san was cooking a meal. Lunch, most likely, considering it looked like it was nearing noon from the way the sunlight came in. She was humming the same tune she'd played on the flute days ago when they'd first met, only the melody seemed more cheerful this time.

Against the far wall sat Morimoto-san, looking sleepy and content with his back against the wall and his hands folded across his belly. Isamu-chan was circling the greengrocer's outstretched feet watching them like they were the most fascinating things in the world.

Kenshin frowned in puzzlement, wondering what the little boy was so interested in when suddenly, Morimoto-san's foot flicked sideways, and his tatami sandal went flying into the air, striking one of the supply shelves nearby.

Isamu-chan howled in laughter, doubling over with giggles before scampering off to retrieve the fallen shoe and put it carefully back onto Morimoto-san's foot. The child hovered about, watching the greengrocer's feet again, waiting like a cat about to pounce, not noticing that Morimoto's eyes were open a crack and that the greengrocer was smiling at him in wry amusement.

"Isamu-chan, Hideo-san, you two are going to knock something over if you keep that up," scolded Fumiko. But there was laughter in her voice, and her eyes twinkled as she watched her son's antics.

"It's doing it by itself," protested the greengrocer. "I swear!"

Isamu-chan merely giggled again and flicked his small fingers at the greengrocer's shoe, waiting for it to go flying off across the room again.

Kenshin smiled to himself. He was entranced. He lay as he was on the futon, not daring to move, not daring to make a sound. He wanted to watch forever, to drink in their delight and perhaps to save a little part of it for himself. A strange and happy memory to take on the road with him when he became well enough to leave this place. He was afraid that if they knew he was awake, they would stop doing what they were doing. He was afraid they would stop laughing.

It was like a dream, so different from the hellish night before. And he found himself wondering at these people, that they could seem so content and continue on with their lives as if nothing had happened. As if everything was normal.

"Oh, Himura-san, you're awake," said Fumiko-san.

He blinked, suddenly hit by unexpected panic. He didn't know what to do, what to say under such…ordinary circumstances. This wasn't an inn full of warriors. This wasn't shishou's home in the mountains. And as for his own long-lost family's mornings, it was so long ago, he couldn't remember what they used to do.

A rather pathetic "hai" was all he managed as he slowly sat up, ignoring his protesting muscles. He was stiff and sore all over, and the shoulder was a bit worse than it had been yesterday, but at least he hadn't picked up any new injuries yesterday night. That was a blessing.

Morimoto-san got up from his spot and came over, Isamu tagging along behind. Wordlessly, the greengrocer helped Kenshin to dress, thoughtfully standing between him and Fumiko-san so he could have a bit of privacy.

"Did you fall out of a tree?" Isamu-chan asked, his young eyes wide.

"What?" Kenshin was never sure what the child was talking about.

"Your scars. You have big scars. Were you high up? I have a scar. I fell out of a tree."

"Uh, no," he blinked. "No, I didn't fall out of a tree."

"I wanted to see if I could land on my feet. My cat always lands on its feet," Isamu-chan explained.

"Aa," said Kenshin.

"Isamu-chan," Morimoto-san chided. "It's not polite to ask such things."

Morimoto-san seemed amused, however, at Kenshin's discomfiture as he helped Kenshin with the bad arm. The greengrocer bound it tightly on the upper half only, leaving Kenshin's forearm free. It was a new way of binding, one that worked well, Kenshin thought. It kept his shoulder and upper arm immobile and supported, while he was free to move everything from the elbow on down.

"Last night…" Kenshin began.

"We can talk about that later," said Fumiko-san quickly from the kitchen, looking toward her son, indicating she didn't want the little one to hear of such things.

Kenshin nodded in understanding.

"Yes, once Noriya gets back, we can discuss everything in detail. But for now, relax, Himura," said Morimoto-san. "It's daylight out. Nothing's ever happened in the daylight."

"Sato-san's all right then?" asked Kenshin.

"Hai, hai, he's fine. So's Etsuo if you were wondering. I left them both in town. Noriya's got business to attend to. Long story. We'll talk about it later. But for now.…" the greengrocer walked over to a small sack by the doorway and rummaged through. He came back with a packet in hand.

"I got this from Fumiko's sister while I was picking up Isamu this morning. It could be useful, I think," he said, as he tossed the packet to Kenshin.

Kenshin caught it and looked at it curiously.

His eyes widened as he read the label and learned what it was. "This…this is…"

He didn't know what to think. He looked up to find both Fumiko-san and Morimoto-san looking at him expectantly. Waiting for him to say something.

"We'll help you do it, if you'd like," offered Fumiko almost hesitantly.

Kenshin blinked. Completely at a loss.

"You…you want me to dye my hair?"

To be continued.

* * *

**  
Japanese Terms:**  
Aa: yes  
Engawa: porch  
Kami-sama: God  
Iya: no  
Okaa-san: mother  
Onee-chan: elder sister (familiar form)  
Temee: you (a rather rude form of the word)

**Author's Note:**  
Some people had questions about whether or not Etsuo noticed Noriya and Hideo's slip-up in chapter 8. Heh. Time will tell….

My gratitude goes, as always, to the reviewers. It makes it all worthwhile, knowing there are people out there actually reading this thing. (Yay!) Thanks to Aroihkin Silverblade, hitokirioroness, PraiseDivineMercy, Ms. Zeal, T. Marauder, BakaBokken, majoranka, Lady Himura Shishi, Shaolin 10, Uzumaki901, KoChanneo, Maeve Riannon, Mir, holly, Hitokiri-san, Bloody Akiko Nagi the Insane, Cattibrie393, SkyDancerHawk, Night-Owl123, conspirator (and Co-C), wyrd, pu-chan, mvdiva, Poppy2, Lady Battousai456, Lily of the Shadow, darksaphire, mad melma, K. Asayuni, Calger459, kenshinadmirer, Tiger of Sonicboom, Melissa, Wolfgirl13, elisteran, sniffle , Jaelithe, Nguardian, Linay, ChiisaiLammy, Neko Oni-chan, Salioka, missaw, Wistful-Eyes, AmunRa, Gothic Misery, PhoebeOtaku, junyortrakr, Nekotsuki, audra no baka, cattleaya, and KatsyKat.

My God, that's a lot of people. I'm getting stage fright. LOL.

And to whoever nominated/seconded my stories for the RKRC awards, thank you very much. I'm flattered and honored.

--HB 


	10. Ch 10 ::: A Matter of Resolve

**Disclaimer:** This fan fiction is based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuke, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and VIZ Comics. This is a non-profit work for entertainment purposes only. Permission was not obtained from the above parties. 

**WARNING: **This chapter contains strong language as well as major spoilers for Trust and Betrayal.

* * *

**  
Against a Sea of Troubles: Chapter 10 – A Matter of Resolve**  
by Haku Baikou  
09.Dec.2004

* * *

"Oi, Himura, we didn't fish you out of the sea just to have you drown in the bath," came Morimoto-san's amused voice from outside the doorway. 

He opened his eyes sluggishly, relishing the feel of the hot water and steam. His sore limbs felt halfway normal, relaxed from the heat, tension melted away for the first time in days. The ache in his shoulder was a constant throb still, but the pain had lessened to a blessedly pale shade of what it had been. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be free of pain, or relatively free, at least.

He sighed, too comfortable to move. Sank down a bit further in the bath, his eyes closed to mere slits, content to watch dust motes land upon patches of glimmering light on the steamy surface of the water. Long strands of ebony drifted under that shimmering surface. He ran his fingers through them and came fully awake, remembering that the strange dark hair was in fact his own. Morimoto-san had helped him dye it just before the bath.

It had never occurred to him to dye his hair before. His hair had always marked him as different, and had always been a risk when he was in enemy territory. But he'd always been more than able to defend himself against attack. And so, when Fumiko-san and Morimoto-san had asked him to alter it, his initial inclination had been to refuse.

But he'd remembered then, that he was a guest in Sato-san's house, and that Sato-san's village considered the Ishin Shishi to be their enemy. He remembered that his presence here was a constant danger to Sato-san and his loved ones, and that his discovery would place them in an awkward, if not downright hazardous position. In that light, it seemed a small enough request, he thought. Sato-san risked his life in harboring a known killer. Dyeing his hair to avoid notice was the least this killer could do in return.

He stared at the glistening strands, shifting them in his fingers, fascinated. It was a strange sensation, as if he were watching someone else's hand running through someone else's hair.

"Himura? You all right in there?" Morimoto-san opened the door and peered inside, looking at him with a bit of concern. The greengrocer held a towel and a clean yukata in hand. "Do you need help getting out?"

"Iya, I'll manage," he replied quickly. And manage he did, although not quite as smoothly as he would have wished. The days spent bed-ridden after his injuries and the three fights he'd had last night had taxed him nearly to his limit. And even he couldn't ignore the obvious fact that he hadn't eaten well and had lost a great deal of weight in the last several days. It was shameful how weak he was if Morimoto-san felt it necessary to offer assistance just so he could climb out of his bath. He'd been too miserable to care much about his health before, but now that his thoughts were no longer bogged down by a haze of pain and medicines, he found himself consumed by a restless energy, wanting more and more to rebuild his strength as quickly as possible.

So with an effort, he carefully hauled himself out of the water and sat shivering slightly until Morimoto-san settled the large towel comfortably about his shoulders. He managed to dry himself off and dress himself without any help as Morimoto-san politely turned away and retreated outside to wait. It was the first time since his injury he'd managed such a mundane task without assistance. He smiled to himself. A minor, yet satisfying victory.

He felt refreshed. Shaky still, but more alive than he'd felt in days.

He felt…human again.

The roll of bandages was still a problem, however. Try as he might, he couldn't wrap his arm tightly enough. And so he swallowed his pride and handed Morimoto-san the roll as he emerged from the bath. Morimoto-san, who seemed to be in an unusually good humor, took the roll before he could ask and started wrapping it tightly around Kenshin's arm and chest as if it were a matter of routine.

"Damn, you do look different this way." The greengrocer cocked his head to one side. "Makes you seem a little older, I think. You could actually pass for, oh, I don't know… fourteen, fifteen even."

Kenshin looked askance at the greengrocer and held his tongue as Morimoto-san chuckled gleefully.

"Hideo-san," came Fumiko's voice from the house. "Come inside, both of you, before Himura-san catches a chill."

Kenshin blinked. Yesterday, Fumiko-san had wanted to kill him. Today, she didn't want him catching a chill. He didn't think he'd ever understand the woman.

As Kenshin and Morimoto-san entered the house, they were greeted by a wide-eyed Isamu-chan who gawked with the unabashed intensity only young children possessed.

"You changed colors," the boy noted, apparently enthralled.

Kenshin's hand went automatically to his hair. Strange, and more than a little ironic, that he should feel self-conscious about it now that it was actually a normal color.

"Can you make my hair red? No, yellow!" the boy chirped.

Fumiko-san scooped her son up in her arms and tapped him lightly on the nose. "That's enough. You're making our guest uncomfortable. Come with me, little one. You can help me with the laundry."

"Hai! Can you tie my arm in some cloth like his?" Isamu's voice could be heard as Fumiko carried him out the door with a mortified, apologetic glance over her shoulder.

Kenshin knew he was blushing by the warmth of his face and the smug look of amusement on Morimoto-san's.

"Come, Himura." The older man motioned for him to sit. "You must be hungry. We saved you some lunch."

* * *

Ito's stomach growled. Ito the jailor was a giant of a man. The sound was therefore quite impressive. 

It woke Noriya from the light doze he'd sunk into as he worked on copying his transcription notes of the prisoner's interrogation session. Noriya blinked himself awake and frowned as he discovered he'd ruined the piece of paper he was working on when he'd fallen asleep. The neat, precise writing was marred by a sloppy black smear as his grip on the brush had slackened.

Noriya sighed. "Ito-san, your stomach is a very frightening thing."

Ito's craggy, rough face managed a blush. "Gomen, Sato-san," his deep voice rumbled. "I missed lunch."

"Why don't you get something to eat then? I'll stay here and look after the place."

And at the jailor's hesitant glance toward the lone occupied cell: "It's all right, Ito-san. This Sakamoto fellow's in no shape to cause trouble, I think. Besides, you've got four men outside guarding the building. I'd hardly be alone, now would I?"

"You sure you'll be all right, Sato-san?"

"Hai, hai," Noriya waved absently at the jailor and proceeded to gather his scrolls and brushes in order.

Ito nodded appreciatively. Stood up, stretched, and cracked his knuckles. "I'll be at the soba shop. If you need me—"

"If anything should happen—which I highly doubt—I'll be sure to call for help." Noriya assured the jailor.

The corner of Ito's lip twitched. It was the closest thing the big man had to a smile. He nodded then and ducked out of the doorway.

Noriya stopped what he was doing and looked down the hallway.

He was alone now, save for the prisoner in the cell. He flexed the fingers of his right hand, rubbing them to loosen up the cramps he'd acquired from an entire afternoon of writing. He considered approaching Sakamoto to ask him a few burning questions of his own.

Old Takaharu had been relentless in his interrogation of the prisoner, but for all the old man's skill and tenacity, the bandit had revealed nothing. After hours of questions and "encouragement" from Ito's fists, the man was still stubbornly silent. Takaharu had finally called an end to the session, stepping outside of the room and beckoning for Noriya to follow.

Noriya had been relieved to leave the room. He really hated this part of his job. Hated recording the stilted dialogue between interrogator and prisoner. Hated the violence, however necessary it was for the safety of the town. He'd cringed every time he heard the sound of Ito's fist making contact with the prisoner's flesh, a soft thudding noise that may as well have been as loud as thunder for all the discomfort it caused. The sound had made Noriya feel sick to his stomach.

"That's enough, Ito. Hold off," Takaharu-san had said grimly when it was apparent they were getting nowhere.

Ito had obeyed instantly. The blows ceased, and the jailor wiped his hands on a bit of spare cloth, eager to clean them of the blood and grime that coated them. Ito hadn't seemed pleased to be doing this either, Noriya had noted. The tension-filled lines of the jailor's brutish face had eased the moment Takaharu had told him to stop. And the tall man had exited the room so quickly, so eagerly, he'd almost forgotten to duck his head as he walked through the doorway. Ito obviously wasn't fond of beating people into submission.

Actually, none of them were. Takaharu had found violent interrogations distasteful and had often made his dislike of them quite clear. But the old councilman still would not hesitate to use brute force when verbal persuasion failed, so occasionally, the three of them found themselves in unpleasant situations such as this, trying to obtain precious information from stubborn prisoners in any fashion they could manage.

Sakamoto had information they needed. Sakamoto had refused to cooperate, knowing full well what would be in store for him if he didn't speak. Sakamoto had knelt in the middle of the cell and stared daggers at Takaharu while the old councilman told him he'd be beaten to death if that's what it took to get the truth out of him.

It was admirable, the man's loyalty, Noriya had to admit. For Sakamoto's sake as well as the town's, Noriya had wished the man would cooperate. But for Himura's sake, he wished Sakamoto would not.

The blood and the violence were normally bad enough. His divided loyalties in this particular instance, had only made Noriya feel worse.

"Stubborn fool, this brigand," Takaharu had said in a low voice laced with reluctant respect. "He won't talk even if this kills him, will he."

"No, I don't think he will," Noriya had agreed.

"We can't really keep beating him," the old councilman had said. "I may be ruthless, but I'm not completely heartless. A clean, painless execution is one thing. These… these bloody torture sessions make me ill."

"I know, Takaharu-san."

"If only our warriors weren't all gone, Noriya." The village elder's voice had been wistful. "Yukito-san would have rounded up a force and dealt with the brigands easily."

"Not if Eisuke-san beat him to it." Noriya smiled fondly at the memory of the village's two greatest swordsmen. Yukito and Eisuke had been the best of friends and the greatest of rivals. They'd kept the town safe for a decade before the war, but they were gone now, along with most other men of their age. And the village was never quite the same again. Never felt quite as safe as it did in the old days.

"Hai." Takaharu had sighed. "Battousai saw the end to that, didn't he. Those two never had a chance against him…. Kami-sama, what I wouldn't give to know how that demon is related to all of this. Is he leading these brigands after all? I find such a thing difficult to believe."

Noriya had said nothing in response.

"Better luck tomorrow, I suppose," the old man had said, rubbing at tired, reddened eyes. "I've had quite enough for one day, my boy. I'm going home…. I'm far too old for all this nonsense." He'd seemed tired, the weight of his many years apparent in the slumped set of his shoulders. Noriya had rarely seen Takaharu-san look so disheartened. It had been an unnerving thing to see.

Noriya finished putting away his brushes and stretched, trying to fight exhaustion. He hoped Takaharu-san was getting some proper rest at least. Noriya longed for the comfort of his own bed, but he had one last thing to do before he could go home.

He picked up a pot of tea from his desk and poured a cup, then walked slowly to the prisoner's cell. Sakamoto sat leaning against the far wall, wrists chained, head hanging forward with his face hidden from view. Droplets of red dotted the wooden planks of the floor. The stale air of the cell reeked of sweat and blood.

"I have some tea here, if you'd like," Noriya offered as he bent down and carefully slid the cup across the floor between the bars of the prisoner's cell. "Here. Please take it."

* * *

"Here," said the greengrocer. "I thought you might like to see how it looks. Black suits you, I think." 

He set down his bowl and looked warily at the object in Morimoto-san's hand.

"It's just a mirror, Himura-san." The older man opened the small square box to demonstrate.

Kenshin took the mirror in hand, hesitating. It was stupid, this aversion he had, and he couldn't explain it in sensible terms to anyone else. But Kenshin hated mirrors. He always had.

"Is something the matter?" the greengrocer asked.

Curiosity finally made Kenshin look down. The shock of the dark hair kept him from turning away. The black dye really did make an incredible difference. And Morimoto-san was right. He did look slightly older this way. And he would have looked like a different person entirely if it weren't for the demonic amber of his eyes. And, of course, the scar.

The scar. The damned thing drew his attention as always. There were times, especially when he was alone, when he could almost forget he had it. But seeing his reflection only brought home the fact that to others, it was always visible, always there. He was constantly reminded of it when he was around people, when he noticed them staring at it. Or worse yet, trying to act as if they weren't staring at it, but failing to do so. They never did let him forget.

He ran his finger along the crossed lines.

Kiyosato's line.

Tomoe's line….

His face must have betrayed something of what he felt, for the old man was looking at him oddly.

"I didn't realize it bothered you so much," came Morimoto-san's quiet voice. It was obvious the man was not referring to Kenshin's new hair color.

"Sorry, Himura. I should have considered…." Morimoto-san gestured uselessly with his hand. "Hell, I wasn't thinking. I'd pretty much forgotten it was there."

Now this was a surprise.

"You… forgot?"

"Well, no, not exactly," said an uncomfortable and suddenly self-conscious Morimoto-san. "No, of course I didn't actually forget it. But it… it seems as if it's just another part of your face. Like your nose or your mouth. I don't really notice it most of the time."

Kenshin stared.

"Idiot," Morimoto-san muttered to himself under his breath as he took the mirror back and put it away.

Morimoto-san paused. And then, as if he couldn't help himself, the greengrocer turned back to face Kenshin again and asked in a rush: "Well, fuck it. Now that I've made an ass of myself, I might as well ask everything. How the hell did you get that thing anyway? It's a damned funny shape for a scar."

Kenshin blinked. And continued to stare at Morimoto-san, dumbfounded.

No one, absolutely no one, had ever asked Hitokiri Battousai that question quite so bluntly before.

His own stammered answer, therefore, was equally direct: "My wife gave it to me."

And to his surprise, he discovered that bringing up such memories didn't quite hurt as much as he expected it to. The sharp stab of familiar pain was there, but it didn't bring the bleak depression that would usually crash down upon him afterwards. Kenshin wasn't sure if this was because he was starting to feel more comfortable around Morimoto-san, or because he was finally feeling better after days confined to bed, or perhaps because he could hear Isamu-chan and Fumiko-san's distant cheerful laughter coming from the engawa outside. He only knew that he'd normally be reduced to a quaking mess by such thoughts, but right now, he wasn't.

"Your wife?" Morimoto-san asked, taken aback.

"Yes, the day I killed her."

Morimoto-san suddenly looked vaguely ill. He swallowed hard and mumbled, "Look, I uh, should clean these dishes, yes? Or I could… brew us some tea."

Kenshin looked down at his teacup. It was full.

"Right, no need for tea," the greengrocer babbled. "Of course, there's plenty left in the pot too, I think. Oi, pot's still warm, right…."

Kenshin had never seen the man quite so discomfited.

"Morimoto-san," he said.

Morimoto-san froze, tense as a rabbit in a trap.

"It's all right."

The greengrocer's features relaxed a bit, softened into a thoughtful frown. "No, Himura, it's not all right. I've got a big fucking mouth. Noriya would kill me if he knew I asked you that. What happened between you and your wife is none of my damn business—"

"It was a gift."

Morimoto-san blinked. "Huh? I don't understand."

Kenshin smiled at the older man despite a tightening pain in his chest and throat.

It did hurt. Not as bad as it had in the past, but still, it hurt. He didn't think he'd ever be able to speak of that day without it hurting.

"I was blind and deaf that day. My wife… she saved me from being lost forever."

Kenshin knew Morimoto-san would have no idea of what he was talking about, and he didn't see fit to explain to the greengrocer about the assassins in the Forrest of Barriers who had ambushed him with crippling explosives. Couldn't tell the old man that the snowy ground had been soaked through with her blood, the metallic scent drowning out the familiar, comforting fragrance of white plum she always wore. Couldn't speak of how chilled he was, of how he couldn't feel her with numbed hands, of how all his senses were muted, how his entire soul was on the verge of being lost in his grief, how his sanity was fragmenting, threatening to die along with her.

She had seen it, he knew. That near-madness in his eyes. Had seen that he was floundering, was finally losing himself, that her impending death had pushed him to a dangerous point he'd managed to avoid despite all the horrors he'd committed during the war.

And Tomoe, who always understood him, knew exactly what had to be done to save him. She'd known, even better than he, the one path that still remained open between himself and the rest of the world.

Pain.

It was the one thing he could still feel at that moment, the one feeling his guilt-ridden mind could accept.

So she gave him that. Left him that last gift and touched him in the only way possible. Broke through his panicked, anguished haze with the blade and gave him a solid sensation on which he could anchor himself. Made contact and brought him back from the brink, and allowed him to focus on her, to finally see her and hear her: _It's all right, so please don't cry…._

With those words, and with her blade, she'd sealed the vengeful cut that Kiyosato had wrought, and given Kenshin a permanent reminder of who he used to be, of why he was no longer that person, and of what he was capable of becoming in a brighter future to come.

She'd placed her hopes for him in that new scar. And with it, she had given him one of her rare, beautiful smiles.

He managed a slight smile of his own, surprised that despite the ever-present guilt, he could actually think of that moment now with a kind of fondness he'd never been able to muster before.

Izuka-san had once told him that a wound made in strong hatred would never heal until revenge had been exacted. What Izuka had never said, however, was that a wound made in love and hope could also remain until that hope was someday realized and achieved.

Of course, Kenshin hadn't been aware of any of this on the day he received the scar. He'd been in too much agony to think of anything besides losing Tomoe.

But he'd had months since the war to come to this conclusion. And sometimes, when he was feeling especially calm or at ease, he could even allow himself to consider the possibility of fulfilling Tomoe's hopes for him. Of finding a way to live in the world and atone for all his wrong-doings. Of making the scar fade away.

For a while at least, he could entertain such thoughts, until shame set in again, and his conscience forced him to reject the idea of possibly succeeding in such a quest. Reality would always set in eventually. The hope would fade, and he'd be left with the same doubts that had plagued him since Toba Fushimi. How was he to atone? How could one such as he co-exist with the untainted?

He'd wandered for months and found none of the answers to the questions he'd sought. And to be honest, he wasn't even sure just exactly what his questions were. He had the sinking feeling that he could wander for years and years more, and still never know just what he was searching for.

"Himura?"

Morimoto-san was looking thoughtfully at him, an oddly gentle expression on his face.

Kenshin realized with a start, that his mind had wandered again. That he had completely forgotten the greengrocer's presence.

"Gomen-nasai, I was thinking about—"

"No need to explain, Himura-san," said the greengrocer quietly. "I shouldn't have asked. I shouldn't have pried."

Kenshin took a deep breath and tried to regain the calm he'd felt earlier when he'd been relaxed in the bath.

His memories had a tendency to throw him off balance, and he was becoming rather sick of that. He knew he'd never be completely comfortable with his past, but he had to do something to keep himself from falling into a deep, melancholic fit each time he was reminded of something painful. For he had so many painful memories, he could easily be incapacitated by them if he didn't make an effort to maintain his equilibrium.

It was time to stop running away from old, familiar hurts. Time to confront those memories and do something productive with them instead of wallowing in self pity. Time to make good on his promise to his wife.

He was ready, he thought. For the first time since the end of the war, he felt at peace enough with himself to face his uncertain future. The mind was certainly willing, was ready to make the initial effort.

A pity that he had no idea what that effort was supposed to be.

* * *

The brigand eyed the teacup, gaze intent. His left eye had swollen nearly shut from one of Ito's hits. Sakamoto licked dry, cracked lips and rose awkwardly to his knees crossing his cell to pick the drink up. He sipped at it, careful of a gash on his lower lip. He seemed grateful, but remained silent and wary. 

Noriya lowered himself and sat on the floor, facing the man. "I can understand why you'd wish to protect your comrades."

The prisoner looked up briefly, disdainfully, and resumed drinking his tea.

"But why do you continue to protect Battousai? To remain silent would mean your death," Noriya said quietly. "Takaharu and the councilmen are peace-loving men at heart. But times have been hard, and our town has lost a great deal from the war. This town… is not as gentle as it once was. Executions have been fairly frequent in the last few years. We simply don't have the manpower it would take to keep guard over convicted prisoners. We don't have the resources to feed prisoners either. So we take no prisoners at all. Execution is cheaper. You know what awaits you."

Nothing from the bandit.

"Why protect the assassin at risk of your life? He's the one who wounded you last night, isn't he?"

"If you're trying to make me talk…" growled Sakamoto.

"You fear him, is that it?" pressed Noriya.

Sakamoto snorted in wry amusement.

Noriya watched the man closely, trying to read any hints from the bandit's face. He took a deep breath and pressed onward, taking a terrible risk: "I know you saw Battousai last night. I know he's here."

Sakamoto paused briefly before taking another sip. "You wouldn't know Battousai if he bit you on—"

"His name is Himura. He has red hair and golden eyes," said Noriya. "And a cross-shaped scar on his left cheek."

"Common knowledge."

"He's shorter than one would expect. A small man, of slight build, no taller than a boy," responded Noriya.

Sakamoto still did not appear impressed.

"He's a quiet young man," Noriya continued. "Soft-spoken and considerate of others almost to a fault. He rarely speaks. Almost never smiles. Doesn't seem to sleep too well at night either. Hardly like the stories they tell. Not at all like the amber-eyed monster I've heard described."

Sakamoto was staring blankly into the teacup, his face too carefully composed. Noriya knew he had the man's attention now.

"He's a good man, isn't he," pressed Noriya.

"What would you know?" Sakamoto said cautiously.

Noriya scooted forward toward the bars of the cell in front of him. "I thought at first, that you were afraid of him. That you refused to mention his name out of fear he'd hunt you down for betraying him. But I suspect that's not the case."

Sakamoto looked up, dark eyes hard as slate. "What do you want, old man?"

"I want to be certain of your intentions."

"My intentions? Regarding what? My men? Battousai? I fail to see how my intentions would matter considering I'm sitting here, rotting away in this damned cell. I don't know where my men are. They would have struck camp and moved the minute they realized I'd been captured. And Battousai… Battousai isn't even here," the bandit's intent gaze was unwavering. "Are you people deaf? How many times must I repeat myself? I had a little too much sake last night. I cut my chin when I tripped on a rock and fell."

Noriya swallowed, loosening his grip on the bars as relief washed over him. "So you really won't betray him."

"Him? Him who? I don't know who the fuck you're talking about." Sakamoto looked at Noriya for a long time.

There was no question of it, Noriya knew. Sakamoto was the key to capturing the bandits. No matter how the man's principles had strayed after the war, his confidence and the aura about him seemed unshakeable, the qualities of a natural born leader. The man was beaten bloody and shackled in a prison cell, and still, Noriya was the one who was feeling exposed and uncomfortable under this prisoner's intense gaze, instead the other way around as it should have been.

"And what exactly are your intentions, Scribe, if I may be so bold as to ask?" The bandit said slowly. "You're a citizen of this town, and yet… Do your allegiances lie elsewhere?"

"No! No, they absolutely do not," protested Noriya, sparked to rare anger. "This is my home."

"Then why reveal your knowledge of the hitokiri? You've just put yourself at risk, you old fool. I could tell your council leader what you've said to me. Get you in as much trouble as me."

"I don't think you'd do that."

"You're a miserable judge of character then," Sakamoto laughed faintly. But the laughter died quickly from his face.

"I just don't want to see any more good men die. That includes Himura-san," said Noriya. "And it also includes you, Sakamoto-san."

"Ha! You should have been a monk, not a scribe," said the bandit sarcastically, but Noriya had seen: The bandit's careful façade had slipped a notch.

"Sakamoto-san, the council will most likely vote for your execution. They'll go through the motions of a trial, but in the end, I'm sure you know what the verdict will be. It's happened here before with other convicted criminals. It's revenge for all the pain the Ishin Shishi dealt us in the war. But I do have some influence in this town. I'll do what I can to lessen your sentence. Perhaps get you transferred to a town that—"

"Transfer?" spat the prisoner. "You expect me to thank you?"

"I don't expect anything. I only hope that you can continue with your silence. For both your men and for Battousai… wherever he may be." Noriya said quietly.

Sakamoto narrowed his eyes. "Hitokiri Battousai saved my life back in the war. He saved the lives of many of my men. And… recently, quite recently… he spared my life when I did something incredibly foolish."

The bandit finished his tea and slid it out between the bars.

"Thank you," said Noriya softly as he took the cup from the prisoner. He'd seen the truth in Sakamoto's eyes as the man had spoken.

Noriya had his answer. And he was satisfied.

"Don't," said Sakamoto. "I don't care a wit for you or your stinking village. I owe the hitokiri a debt I can't possibly repay. If he were here in this town, the last thing I'd ever do is betray him to the likes of your pathetic little council. Battousai did what he had to do during the war. Just like any of the rest of us. Only difference was that he happened to excel at certain unsavory skills. So he was used for those skills. And now he's the lucky one who gets to deal with the consequences. If you know him at all, then you know your council has no right to pass judgment on him."

"You're right. They don't," agreed Noriya quietly. He smiled humorlessly at the prisoner. "Himura-san tends to bring out the best in everyone, doesn't he?"

"Even in the most despicable of men." Sakamoto sighed and looked away. "It's a damned annoying trait."

The brigand leaned back against the wall, his manacled wrists resting on his knees. He closed his eyes.

Noriya took the teacup and was about to leave when….

"If you think my men will simply sit in the forest and twiddle their thumbs while your council sends me to the executioner, then you provincial rubes are even more foolish than you look. Four guards outside this jailhouse. Ha, you people amuse me so…."

The words were spoken casually, tiredly. But they chilled Noriya's blood all the same. "What do you mean by that? Sakamoto-san, what do you mean?"

But the prisoner ignored Noriya's question and turned his back away, curling up his knees and closing his eyes.

"Thanks for the tea," said Sakamoto softly, and proceeded to fall asleep.

* * *

Harada Katsu's fist smashed into the trunk of the tree with a resounding thud. 

Leaves fell timidly from the branches overhead. Men nearby flinched and looked away in nervous guilt as their temporary leader struggled to maintain his calm.

"How badly?" he growled slowly through clenched teeth.

Ryo—the only spy Katsu had sent out who had come back with any useful information on Sakamoto's whereabouts—ducked his head miserably. It was obvious the man wished he were anywhere else in Japan right now other than here under Katsu's scrutiny.

Katsu had a vile temper. He knew he was a frightening man at the best of times. This moment was definitely not the best of times….

The men were terrified of him at the moment. As they very well should be. Fucking incompetents had lost Sakamoto last night, and they had dared…had fucking _dared_ to come back without him….

"Ryo," Katsu repeated. "How badly was he injured?"

"I'm not sure. He had blood on his face and chest. He was walking carefully, stiffly. But he didn't seem to need any help, Harada-san," the spy stammered nervously.

"And you say a group of young boys managed to do this to him?"

Sakamoto was one of the best fighters Katsu had ever served under during the war. How such a warrior could have been so thoroughly beaten by a gang of village brats was beyond Katsu's comprehension.

"I don't know, Harada-san," said Ryo. "Apparently so, since they were the ones who escorted him into town. Although I must admit, I find it difficult to believe."

So did Katsu. Ridiculous notion, the thought of Sakamoto Kinya being bested by incompetent babies.

"What did Basho and Murai say?" he asked, disgusted at the two men who had lost Sakamoto.

"Eh, not much, I'm afraid. Those two still insist that Sakamoto-san disappeared without a trace. And when they'd gone to search for him, they swear they were attacked by an entire squad of armed warriors."

"An entire squad. You don't honestly believe that."

Ryo sighed. "Iya. I scouted the area where they were supposedly attacked. I saw no footprints to indicate a large number of men. But then again, it's clear the two of them were attacked by someone. Basho's ribs are broken, and Murai's got a lump on his head the size of—"

"Forget those two," Katsu spat. Murai and Basho were lucky Katsu didn't wring their necks on the spot. "You say the villagers took Sakamoto to the town jail?"

"Hai."

"Four guards?"

"Hai. Plus the jailor. He's a giant of a man," said Ryo. "And he, unlike the others in town, does seem to know how to handle a weapon."

"Still, five men. Should be easy."

"Should be," Ryo agreed. "Unless one of them happens to have been the one who beat the shit out of Mirai and Basho. They say their attackers were fast, Harada-san. They never even got a good look at who bested them. I have a feeling it was only one man, and not a group. Perhaps he's the one who got Sakamoto-san."

Katsu frowned. He walked deeper into the forest, away from his men.

"Harada-san?" Ryo called after him.

"Shut up, Ryo," he snapped uncharitably. He needed to think. Needed to find out what was going on, to find out who this new threat was. Needed to get Sakamoto out of the village before the townspeople could do anything stupid.

"Sakamoto Kinya, you bastard," he cursed at his absent friend for all the inconvenience he was causing them all. How could Kinya let this happen?

Sakamoto was the leader. Sakamoto was the thinker of the group. Sakamoto—stupid son of a bitch—was a fucking idiot for getting himself captured and leaving Katsu to deal with the mess.

Katsu sighed. Sakamoto was the one who usually planned their raids. His plans always involved stealth and speed. Go in. Get what they needed. Get out. Quick and easy. And most of the time, no one got hurt. Sakamoto was good at that kind of thing.

Katsu was not.

Katsu had no idea how to help his friend other than taking all the men, arming up, and simply invading the town in the dead of night with no subtlety whatsoever. It was the only plan he could think of. People could be hurt. People could die. Sakamoto would never approve of such a brainless plan.

But then again, Sakamoto wasn't here to stop them, now, was he? And Katsu's blood was up. Katsu didn't care if he had to bash a few skulls together to get his friend back….

"Ryo!" he called back toward the clearing.

"Hai, Katsu-san?"

"Get everyone together. We're getting him out of there. As soon as night falls."

Ryo smiled wolfishly.

"Hai, Katsu-san!" the spy said eagerly and went to gather the men.

To be continued.

* * *

**  
Author's Note:**

I couldn't decide if I should reference the OAV or the manga for Tomoe's death scene. So I cheated and used a bit of both. Sorry if that confused anyone.

I've apparently unintentionally traumatized people with the hair dye. (Kind of funny, really, since I was more concerned about the small bit of violence in the dream sequence. Guess I worried for nothing.) I love Kenshin's beautiful red hair, and to be honest, even I didn't really want to dye it. But for the sake of the story, it had to be done. Not to worry. This fic takes place nearly 10 years before he wanders into Tokyo, so there's plenty of time for it to change back to it's normal color.

Damn, I'm rusty. It's been a long time. This chapter's a bit rough. Sorry about that.

Regarding the three month delay. Cough Apologies. School and real life come first. :-) Thanks for your patience. And thanks, as always, for the thoughtful reviews, everyone.


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